Strangeness & Charm
by bluestoplights
Summary: Killian Jones is a pirate captain down on his luck after a falling out with the Evil Queen. Emma Swan just found out she is the Savior. Their shared goals bring them on an epic quest to liberate the kingdom once and for all. It's a lot easier said than done.
1. Identity

**A/N: Hello! Yeah, this is yet another multichapter. I'm just as exasperated as you are. This is going to be a really fun fic to write, for me! It's all very fantasy/adventure/etc. themed and I'm just so stoked to be able to delve into it! I would say this is a no!curse AU and it kind of is? Except I just take the characters I want (that the writers have fucked over) and do whatever with them, so probably not. This story is pretty Legend of the Seeker inspired, but it's more of a scent of it (Is this a thing? Am I describing fic or a candle?) than a straight up AU. I'm going to steal a few tropes - because every episode is a fantastic trope - and the general Hero Whose Name Begins With an S Does Heroic Shit to Overthrow A Dictator With Other Hot People theme, but it's certainly nothing that requires background knowledge in the show. You should still watch the show, because it's fantastic. The title comes from a Florence and the Machine song that was on repeat when I wrote this, though the entire Ceremonials album is such a good soundtrack for it.**

 **And yeah, the rating is what you see it is. We'll see what happens, there. It will be quite a few chapters before that rating is even necessary, though. I have no idea how long this is going to be, frankly. I have most of it plotted out and bits and pieces written - as well as the next chapter - but this isn't a situation like with Conversations with Dead People where most of it is already written. This is going to be really flexible, just seeing how many fun adventure tropes I can cram in here. Side characters are going to be loved, banter will be had, and there is definite future angst.**

 **In other words, this is probably never going to end. I am very sorry. But also very excited? I hope you guys have as much fun reading this as I do writing it. All the thanks in the universe go to Amber and Ella. I don't think people realize what a hot mess fics would be without betas. I'm serious. There'd be so many screwed up commas and I used "eyes" in the wrong way NOT ONCE but twice?! How does that even happen? Point is, they suffer through the first drafts of this mess so that what I post is somewhat coherent.**

 **I really hope you like this!**

-/-

Killian has gotten himself into quite the mess this time.

The tale of his bloody existence, he's sure, but pissing off a queen armed with dark magic and a palette for human suffering must be one of his least bright decisions.

He'd come back to the Enchanted Forest some three years before, after finally fleeing the pit that is Neverland. The Evil Queen was well past two decades into her reign. The Queen of Hearts, Regina's estranged mother, had apparently lied in wait for most of them to make amends with her daughter once and for all. The Evil Queen was less than eager at the prospect.

It was one thing to agree to kill her approximately equally evil mother in exchange for information on how to hunt the crocodile. Becoming her pet assassin was entirely another. Regina was so impressed with his work with Cora, it was Hook who she selected to do her work when her guards failed. In other words, he was the man meant to kill the particularly evasive lot. The list of her enemies ranged wildly - from the challengers still left over from Snow White's reign to the shop owner who complained about the Evil Queen's draconian methods.

Killian ended up with loose fingers - he only had the one hand, after all - with her targets, letting them slip right through with instructions to never be see again. That way, Regina would be none the wiser that they were in hiding rather than dead. He shouldn't be surprised that, years later, one of the bloody prats made himself found again. It's what he gets for having such a damn bleeding heart. Admittedly, though, some of the ushering potential victims into hiding was a result of pure spite. The queen had yet to help him in the least in his pursuit for vengeance.

It comes as no surprise that Regina immediately sees to it to have him killed when news comes that a man she's sentenced to death by his hook for spreading propaganda against the queen has turned up in another village. That is, before Hook escapes, as he is prone to do.

(If he's anything, he's a survivor.)

Killian has instructed enough people to conceal themselves that he has an idea on how to do it himself. After a dramatic escape from the castle, he manages to duck in at a nearby inn without much detection. Hook swaps his dark, billowing shirt for a lighter variation he finds hanging out to dry - he's a pirate, thieving is second nature - and his leather vest for his red one. He even shaves and takes out his earring, hoping his more boyish look would bode well for disguising himself.

The wonderfully convenient part of being Captain Hook is that his most recognizable feature can easily be traded for a wooden hand. He hides both his namesake and his coat in his satchel when he gets to a village he's selected just for its lack of commotion.

(He's learned, by now, which villages have the most _problem_ residents.)

The innkeepers exchange pleasantries with him as he swaps gold for a place to sleep. Killian spends the rest of the night planning his next move.

-/-

The next morning, he strides into the shop of a blacksmith. The plan Killian has devised is simple: assume a role as a nondescript villager working a menial job until he can come up with something better. He's not foolish enough to think that he can defeat the queen, but perhaps if he can evade her long enough he may have the opportunity to plot and exact his revenge on the Crocodile.

Killian can't outrun a group of guards on his own forever. He can, however, outsmart them.

"Are you looking to get your sword sharpened? Or can I help you find another one to befit your needs?" the owner asks, looking up from his work at the forge to where Killian stands loitering at the entrance.

Killian clears his throat, drawing his sword from his belt reluctantly. He can't go straight to the groveling. He needs to find out more about the damn blacksmith and what makes him tick if he wants a job and, thus, an identity to hide in until he can make his next move. "I think this blade could afford a sharpening, I'm afraid it's grown a bit blunt over the years."

The blacksmith hums. "Names Geppetto, what's yours?"

"Killian Jones," he replies. The queen never knew his real name, so it's a good thing he can afford to use it here.

Geppetto stands as Killian sets his sword on the table. He hears blood thrumming in his ears, feeling horrifically vulnerable as he pushes down his urge to grab it before the blacksmith can run him through with it. He has to sacrifice a bit of his safety, take a little risk, if he wants to evade much worse from the queen.

Geppetto grabs it carefully by the hilt. He analyzes it closely, his eyes scanning down the length of it and his hands feeling the sturdiness of it. "This is quite the blade, you have here. I can see why you're so attached to it."

Hook is about to reply that, no, he's not quite that attached when he notices his hand won't stop twitching. He smiles tightly, enclosing his hand in a fist. "Aye. Family heirloom, you could say. The state of things as they are now, if you don't have a sword you may as well have a death sentence."

"It's quite alright, my boy. My son used to be the same way about his sword. Always had to have it on him, hated when he didn't," he laughs, the sound friendly and wistful.

Used to, Killian picks up on. "What happened to him?"

Geppetto's face hardens, his eyes flickering around the room in the paranoia that has become second-nature to those who have lost loved ones to a queen they can't condemn without losing their own lives.

"Oh," Killian says, frowning. The evasion is explanation enough.

"What brings you here?" Geppetto asks in a valiant attempt to change the subject, taking the sword to the sharpening wheel with a sigh.

"I'm afraid it's the same reason that your son was taken from you," he murmurs, anxiously shifting in his boots to keep up the act. "I used to be a blacksmith, funnily enough, but after..."

Geppetto stills his work. "What did she do to yours?"

"The Evil Queen killed my family, tore apart my village," he hisses out, filling his words with as much passion and emotion as possible. His survival may be riding on his ability to sell this, so he needs to give it everything he has. "I left to get supplies from a nearby market, and when I came back I found their bodies strewn about my shop. There was nothing I could do."

It's a familiar enough story, the kind he'd heard in hushed whispers and that settled in his stomach when he shepherded her next victims instead of killing them. He may be a sad, pitiful excuse for a human - one of the worst around, easily - but there are some things that exceed even his tolerance.

Not that he's showing much respect in stealing their stories after only leaving the queen's aid when she threatened him in a selfish pursuit to keep himself alive, but that's not a moral dilemma he has time to weigh.

Geppetto's face falls, then, and he turns to embrace Killian. Killian is taken by complete surprise, letting out an awkward, stilted noise at the unfamiliar gesture of sympathy. He pats the older man's back, a tad uncomfortably, before Geppetto pulls away.

Geppetto pats his shoulder reassuringly. "Sorry to make you uncomfortable, my boy. It's just we've got to stick together in situations like this, seeing our families slain and our spirits crushed. Have you got any other family you can seek out?"

He shakes his head. "I'm afraid not."

"A job?"

Killian answers in the dissent, again.

"Well, then, you said you were a blacksmith? You can help around here, if you'd like. I'm afraid we don't get as many customers as we used to, but I could always use another hand."

Killian feels a pang of guilt, though this situation worked out just as he had hoped it would. Tugging on a blacksmith's heartstrings to get a job was a perfect method, truthfully, for his skillset. Geppetto's seemingly endless kindness and understanding for a liar and a cheat made him feel worse than he predicted.

Nevertheless, survival is survival.

"Would you really?" he asks in disbelief, and he doesn't have to mask his astonishment at being shown humanity and care when he doesn't deserve an ounce of it. "I'm afraid I could be right useless, after everything that's happened..."

"Nonsense," Geppetto insists, "you'll be perfect."

Truthfully, he hasn't been around a forge or a wheel since he was a gangly lad trying out odds and ends while Liam attempted to find them a job in the navy. He wasn't very good at it, vastly preferring a rocking motion underneath his feet and wind whipping in sails.

Hopefully grief would be enough of an excuse in the event he's terrible at the trade. Killian is - if nothing else - a quick learner.

-/-

There was a reason he became a sailor instead of a blacksmith, he thinks as he grimaces at yet another crooked sword. Geppetto has been patient and understating, citing the recent loss of his family making this so difficult for him. It's not that he doesn't know the basics - Killian has a long memory, long enough to perhaps make it believable he was _once_ a blacksmith - it's just the skill takes much longer to develop.

The swords gradually get straighter, though, and he shouldn't feel so damn accomplished when they do. It's all just an act, after all.

It's a bit of whiplash, going from a life spent carrying out Regina's wishes and warring with his conscience to a life so decidedly ordinarily, so domestic. Killian works, runs errands for Geppetto at the market, and does all the banal, small things that consist of a life for so many.

It's not bad, truly.

-/-

One evening, weeks after he takes the job, he's sharpening a blade when he hears Geppetto's harsh cough. Killian frowns, setting down the sword and turning around to face him.

"Everything alright, mate?" he asks.

He isn't worried, not really. He has no reason to be worried about the man whom he conned into offering him a job.

(The man who offered Killian sympathy and kindness, two things he hasn't seen in too long.)

"Just a tad feverish, is all," Geppetto insists, shaking his head. "Nothing to worry yourself over."

Killian's brow furrows. "Erm, is there anything I can do?"

He waves him off, even as coughs wreck through his body. "Nothing to worry about, son, I've had worse. I'll be in tip top shape in no time."

He sighs, unconvinced, but goes back to working all the same.

-/-

It's the next day that he founds the older man - physically older, at least - passed out on the floor of the shop. He springs to action immediately, moving to kneel next to him in concern. "Geppetto?"

He huffs in frustration when he doesn't receive a reply.

"Geppetto," he repeats his name, just a hint of panic in his tone as he shakes the man in an attempt to get him to be responsive. "Mate?"

"Healer," he rasps out, eyes only opening slightly. "I need a healer."

Healer, he thinks, looking down at the him. Right. He needs a healer.

(Where the bloody hell _was_ the nearest healer, again?)

Geppetto's eyes close again and Killian flounders, at loss for what to do. Healer he knew, but didn't know the first thing about where to find one. They didn't exactly advertise their services, the queen wouldn't let them live for long if they did. Suffering was largely done at her hands, so those who made it their job to end pain were hardly people that had her approval.

He scrubs his face with his hand, moving off his knees and sitting down beside Geppetto as he tries to think. He intentionally chose a village he'd never been sent to before, unwilling to have himself recognized by those who had learned to fear him. He spent hours bent over a map just to find one he'd never set foot in. An idea strikes him, then, and he rummages in Geppetto's drawers. He hopes he'll forgive the invasion of privacy if it's meant to save him.

Killian finds what he's looking for in a map, thankfully labeled and marked with the village healer's cottage. He lets out a sigh of relief as he moves to haul the old man over his shoulder. Killian thinks with derision that he's really acting as nursemaid, now. This is what he gets for masquerading as a good man, he tells himself, even as his stomach starts to twist with worry.

You find few genuinely good men in the world. Even if Killian is manipulating him, he knows that Geppetto is one of those few. Unlike his father, who was the type of sniveling, pathetic -

Look at him, he's grown attached to the blacksmith as a paternal figure in a matter of weeks. He gives up the villain title for that long and this is what he's reduced to.

-/-

Killian, by divine intervention or by the fact that he memorizes the map front and back, finds the cottage within the hour. He knocks on the door with his prosthetic and is met at the other side by a blonde woman who looks around the same age as he does.

(Well, not truthfully, as she hardly looks 200 years old, but it still stands. After all, he only _looks_ in his early thirties.)

She ushers him in quickly as soon as she sees him. He supposes that having a man hanging over his back will have that effect. If he weren't so concerned (and desperately trying to convince himself otherwise), he might have spent more time noticing how striking she was - all jade eyes and soft features.

"Lay him out on the cot," the woman instructs, pointing to the surface in question.

He complies, grateful to relieve the load off of his back. "Thank you, lass."

Another blonde woman, with older and sharper features, walks in at that. "What happened to Geppetto?"

Everyone knows everyone here, it seems. How quaint. Killian is quickly growing anxious, tempted to tell them just to shut up and heal him already.

(He doesn't, because he still has some sort of manners ingrained in him.)

"My name is Ingrid," the older woman introduces herself as she checks Geppetto's vitals - fingers pressing to his neck and his wrists. "This is my daughter, Emma. I'm assuming you already know that I'm the healer, here, or else you wouldn't have brought him."

"Killian Jones," he introduces himself briskly. "Geppetto took me in as a blacksmith a little while ago. He's been feverish, lately, had a bit of a cough. He collapsed this morning and told me to get him to a healer before he fell unconscious."

"Where are you from?" Ingrid asks, not unkindly, as she rests her hand on Geppetto's forehead.

"A nearby village," he answers, words practiced at marketplaces and to customers at the shop. "Had nothing but the clothes on my back, after the queen laid waste to my home. Came here in search of a better life, any sort of life really, and Geppetto enabled me to do just that."

"Sounds like Geppetto," Emma says, wryly. "Hopefully we can get him all fixed up and ready to leave."

"We _will_ get him all fixed up," Ingrid corrects, shooting a look to Emma. The corners of her lips upturn at the other woman's words.

Ingrid sets her hands on Geppetto's chest, inhaling deeply as she lets the magic inside of her transfer to him.

He gasps, opening his eyes. Ingrid beams. Killian lets out a relieved laugh and Emma grins.

Killian moves to set his hand in front of Geppetto in the air, offering it to help him sit up. He takes it.

"How are you feeling, mate?" Killianasks, unable to hide the his grin.

"Much better," Geppetto manages to answer. "Thanks, Ingrid."

"You should have come to me sooner," she chides gently. "Then your poor blacksmith wouldn't have had to lug you in here."

"It was no trouble," Killian insists, but the look Ingrid shoots him leaves no room for argument.

"Visit me more," Ingrid instructs Geppetto firmly.

"Good to see you again, Emma," Geppetto sighs, instead, his eyes going to her. "Ingrid keeping you busy?"

"The busiest," she answers shortly, but the words have no bite. "Don't you normally work solo at the forge? Jones, here, must be pretty special."

He'd be insulted if she didn't send him a wry grin.

"Natural talent, the man is," he insists, lying merrily. He's been getting better, sure, but he's still miserable in comparison to Geppetto's focused craft.

"You're a right liar, you are," Killian says good-naturedly. "Took me in because he felt sorry for me."

Geppetto rolls his eyes. "See if my heart continues to bleed if you refuse to help me advertise, Killian. Besides, Emma is quite good at catching lies."

"Now I'm catching on," Killian shakes his head in amusement. "Were the dramatics an excuse to get these ladies to pick out swords?"

"Too late for that," Emma deadpans. "Geppetto has conned me into buying five of them. If he thinks a pretty face will make me expand that even more, he's got another thing coming."

Killian goes a bit red at the _'pretty face'_ comment and curses himself for it, wondering if all this time in the village without sharing a bed with a woman has made a bumbling fool out of him.

(He smirks at Emma, an effort to mask his blushing, and she only rolls her eyes. Right. It truly _has_ taken an effect.)

"Conned you?" Geppetto parrots, resting his hand on his heart in mock-offense. "Why, Miss Swan, I see the need for all of them and more, with your sword-fighting abilities."

"Sword fighting abilities?" Killian asks, curiously.

Now it's Emma's turn to to flush red,

-/-

He remembers the flush of her cheeks and the smile on her lips once Geppetto is safely home and Killian has begun to head back to the inn. It's a cool night, brisk, and he can see the puffs of his breath in the evening air. The stars above him twinkle and he stares up at them, for a moment, oblivious to everything else around him. He misses the sea air, the feeling of a ship under his boots. The Jolly Roger is tucked away someplace safe, hidden as much as it can be, and he hopes that the queen won't find it, won't destroy all he has left of the people he's loved and lost.

He can't go back to his ship. Sailing would be obvious, and he's sure the queen has her men posted and on alert for him at sea.

But perhaps he'll be able to live something approximately close to a normal life here. Working with Geppetto and doing work with weapons he's always been fond of. Meeting people - good people - who look at him with compassion instead of revulsion and fear.

(He thinks of the healer's daughter, her easy smile and her sharp wit.)

He'll miss the sea, but land isn't so bad, really. It may be all based on lies, but what part of his life hasn't been since Liam died? Killian can stay in one place and not worry about Regina's next move or his revenge in the comforting cloak of anonymity.

(Revenge still tugs at him, pulling him towards Rumplestiltskin and the ending of his life, but he pushes it down. He has to live to enact it, after all. It can wait.)

Killian isn't a bloodthirsty pirate here, or another weapon of war. He's just Killian - hard working blacksmith.

He isn't as unsatisfied with that as he assumed he'd be.

Killian is considering this when he hears the familiar heavy footsteps of the queen's guards. The sound takes him by surprise; he skulks behind a brick alley and waits to find out what the bloody hell is going on. Hook is a man with many vices, curiosity being one of the more benign.

"The Savior?" one of the guards asks, in disbelief. There's two of them, as far as he can tell. " _Here_?"

"I swear it's true," the other contests angrily. "I heard some of the villagers talking-"

"Villagers gossiping, you mean? Unconquerable evidence," the first guard sneers, already ready to walk away from the other. "They've been whispering about the Savior for decades. The queen punishes them when they do, but they still just can't keep their damn mouths shut."

"They gave the name of a woman in particular," the second points out. "Emma Swan, they said her name was! The healer here has always been suspicious to us, you know that, her daughter being -"

Killian nearly curses aloud, but stifles his reaction.

"The Savior is a story. One made up by the villagers to cope with their sad, miserable lives."

"Imagine the glory set upon us if we were the ones to kill her. Imagine how we could be rewarded. All the gold in the world could line our pockets, we could don the richest fineries and our families would eat feasts every day," Anticipation and eagerness fill his every word as he continues. "Is your daughter still sick?"

"No," the first says pointedly, "because the healer is the one that cured her ailments."

Silence sits between the two of them.

The second sighs, breaking it. "It's not like you to get sensitive, John. Regina could do so much more for us if we did her this easy favor. It's not like we haven't killed women before."

Their footsteps grow closer and Killian pushes himself further against the wall, trying to keep himself as concealed as possible. The guards' conversation is making his mind whir.

"Do you ever get tired of all the killing?" the second - John, evidently - turns somber. "Don't you just wish we could become shepherds or peddlers instead of _this_?"

"Now you're complaining about the job, of course. It's kill or be killed. I don't want to be killed because we let the Savior escape. Do you?"

The two of them walk out of earshot before Killian can hear any more of their exchange. He rubs at his forehead as he sags against the wall, still having trouble believing what he's just heard. He - like many - assumed that the Savior was just lore of desperate people, what parents told their children when their bellies ached with hunger and they saw another beggar kicked to death for spitting on the guards.

The Savior of the kingdom - by all accounts - is the daughter of Prince Charming and Snow White. Killian was in Neverland at the time of their reign, but apparently they were quite the love story. Prince Charming was a shepherd and the twin of the prince of King George's kingdom, Snow White was a bandit and a rightful heir to the crown Regina stole by murdering her husband. They met when Snow White tried to rob Prince Charming and fell madly in love, battling dragons and spells and all the rest to take back the kingdom.

They succeeded, for a little while. Until Regina, after her curse to bring them all to the Land Without Magic failed, took over the kingdom by force. The newly crowned king and queen, along with their newborn daughter, were assumed dead. Hook has always thought the explanation of hopeful villagers thrusting the fictional title of Savior - whatever that meant - onto the child they refused to believe was killed made the most sense.

But now, Killian supposes, there's a name. And a face to go with it, for that matter. The Savior is - by this account - the daughter of the bloody healer that he talked to just hours prior. Just his fortune, truly. This is what he gets for choosing a village that's _quiet_.

Killian has no way of knowing if she's really the Savior or if such a thing even exists. Still, Emma could be his best shot at evading Regina. And there's nothing that would piss the queen off more than seeing the supposed Savior escape with the help of the pirate who used to do - or pretend to do, at least - her dirty work.

He's a man of spite, after all. If spite motivates him to find and save the savior, well, that's hardly a bad thing now, is it?

-/-

Emma is perfectly happy with a simple life, really. After years surviving off of scraps from the streets and being orphaned since she was a baby, having Ingrid take her in was a positive change for the happily stable instead of the recklessly unsteady. She was twelve when Ingrid first found her, hand cut by an encounter with a guard after she stole a piece of bread. Emma was hungry, she swore, but she managed to evade worse damage from the guard when she came to the healer's cottage. After curing her wound, Ingrid never let her go back onto the streets.

She doesn't have room for complaints when it comes to that.

Sometimes, though, Emma feels unbearably alone and useless in ways that seep down to her bones. What use is she in the grand scheme of things other than the street rat Ingrid pitied? Ingrid's destiny is easy. She makes people's lives better every day with her magic, while Emma can hardly make a candle flicker. While people are constantly flooding in and out in thankfulness for Ingrid's generosity, Emma doesn't have many friends. She's just...there.

All she is is the daughter of a healer, someone people pass on their way to much more important things.

And as much as she assures herself this is fine, that this is something much better than the fate of too many under a reign like the Evil Queen's...it leaves her longing.

She considers this after Geppetto and his new blacksmith leave, pondering the younger's words about just being there because Geppetto felt sorry for him.

(Emma can relate, honestly.)

There's something under the surface with the new blacksmith - Killian - and her one useful skill of being able to detect lies comes in handy when he talks about what supposedly happened to his village. He couldn't say the words without twitching. Emma trusts Geppetto, sure, but she isn't sure that he's being taken advantage of by some handsome wanderer with an agenda.

Granted, his worry seemed plenty genuine when he brought him in, so she lets the both of them leave without hinting at her suspicions.

"What's wrong?" Ingrid interrupts her thoughts, wiping her hands and striding back into the room. She's naturally attuned to these things, whether it's because of her magic or the years she's spent with Emma. If Emma is feeling poorly, she's always the first to pick up on it.

"Nothing," Emma says quickly. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

Emma sighs wearily, "Just about how-"

A furious knocking from outside interrupts her. Ingrid and Emma exchange twin looks of surprise before Emma strides to the door.

"Must be a busy day," Emma comments, just as she opens the door to reveal a woman about Ingrid's age draped in a red cloak.

"I need your help," the woman says, her voice rushed.

Emma frowns, looking her up and down. "You don't look hurt."

"You're about to be if you don't let me in," she replies. Emma almost slams the door in her face.

Ingrid's hand stops her, holding open the door. "Are you threatening us?"

Emma knows the warning in her words. Ingrid's magic can do more things than just heal.

"No," the woman retorts, as if she's offended by the thought. "No, no, but the queen's guards could be here in minutes. My name is Red. You have to let me in."

"Shit," Emma curses, shepherding her in immediately. Ingrid looks similarly worried.

"We've been found," Ingrid murmurs, her cool voice masking what must be imminent panic.

They can move to another village, if they're quick. They've had to do it before, though they've been in this village for years. They assumed they had some kind of an understanding with the guards, more compassionate here than in other areas, so long as Ingrid healed their kids along with everyone else's.

"No," Red corrects, quickly, " _Emma_ has been found."

Their faces twist in confusion.

"What do you mean?" Emma questions.

"Emma," Red says her name fiercely, grabbing her by the shoulder. "You need to run."

"I need to run," she repeats in disbelief, her eyes narrowing. "Yeah. Okay. Sounds like an answer."

"You don't know who you are," Red insists, cryptic as ever. "You need to be hidden. I swear, I'll explain it all to you when it's-"

They hear shouting outside and Emma's heart drops to her stomach. She's a fighter, yes, having practiced for years. But she doesn't know how she'd measure up against however many men could be out there.

"My magic can keep them out," Ingrid reassures them both. "I just don't know how long they're willing to stand there. We have to come out, eventually."

Emma peers out the window, moving the curtains just enough to see without making herself seen. The looks to be only two men, thankfully. That amount, she can handle.

(She's also a little pissed to see that one of them is a man whose daughter they healed only days ago. Asshole sure knows how to repay free labor.)

"Open the door," Emma says, turning to the two of them.

"What?" Ingrid says, voice disbelieving.

"You're right, we can't just stay here like sitting ducks. There's two of them and three of us. You have magic, I have my sword, and Red…"

She turns to Red, hoping she has something to offer.

"I can turn into a wolf?" she offers, unsure.

Well, okay, then.

"Is that a joke?" Emma asks, unsure of how to respond.

"Nope."

"We should be able to cope with the magic and sword," Ingrid says, not unkindly.

"Got it," Red replies, not sounding offended in the least.

Emma opens the door with one hand on her sword as Ingrid lifts the protection spell on the cottage.

"How can we help you gentlemen tonight?" she asks breezily, as the men approach the stoop.

The man whose daughter Ingrid healed - John - hangs his head. Christopher, one of her least favorite guards, just plasters on a fake grin.

"Are you Emma Swan?" Christopher asks, though she knows he already knows the answer.

Emma has her sword to his throat in a second. Ingrid holds back John with magic, who genuinely looks as if he wouldn't be moving much, anyway.

"So you are the Savior," Christopher cackles, hand moving to his own sword. Emma runs him through before he can say another word, before she can even ask him what he means.

He falls to the floor, and Emma looks to John.

"You want to tell me why the hell you're trying to kill me?" she asks.

He can talk, though he can't move. "I'm sorry, Emma."

Ingrid steps in front of him. "Go home. Go back home to your husband and your daughter, John. You know this isn't who you are."

He nods, then, and when Ingrid lifts the spell, he walks away from the cottage.

Emma lets out a sharp exhale of breath.

"It'll only be a matter of time before more come," Red says, morosely.

Emma steps back inside and turns to face her. "This is the part where you tell me why."

Red sighs, moving to sit down on a nearby chair. "You both should sit for this."

"Didn't you just say we didn't have much time?" Ingrid asks, perplexed.

"We have enough time for me to explain the situation and it's not news you'll want standing up," Red replies bluntly.

They both sit on the couch opposite her.

"Snow White is of my closest friends," she begins, setting her hands in her lap.

"I thought Snow White was dead," Emma replies, a frown on her lips.

"You thought," Red emphasizes, "Just like you probably think your parents left you without a care to where you wound up, but that isn't true, either. Your parents are Snow White and Prince Charming and they only hid you because Regina would have killed you if she ever found out where you were. Just as she'll want to kill you as soon as she catches wind of who you are."

Emma's jaw drops. Ingrid isn't fairing much better.

Emma can only stutter for a few moments, at loss for words. "Is that a joke?"

"No," Red shakes her head, brown curls moving with the motion. "You're the Savior, Emma."

Ingrid just looks contemplative at Red's words.

"You're telling me," Emma spits out, derision clear in her voice as she stands to start pacing around the room, "that I'm the lost princess of Misthaven? The fucking _Savior_? That's a myth!"

"Well, royalty isn't meant to have that kind of mouth, but, yes," Red answers with a lackadaisical shrug, as if they just didn't dispatch a men trying kill her, "you _are_ Princess Emma of the Enchanted Forest."

Emma makes a sound in the back of her throat that's meant to be something like a laugh. It comes out more like a hiccup. Her ability to detect lies in another person's words - a skill she's always been proud of and has always been able to get her a hot meal from poker winnings if nothing else did - tells her that Red genuinely believes this to the be the case.

That she, a girl who survived by skirting around the edges until an understanding fellow outcast took her in, was the person who was supposed to save everyone from this miserable hell that Regina put them through.

It's ridiculous. Her expression hardens as she reminds herself that just because someone believes something doesn't mean it's true.

"I'm sorry," is all Emma can say, though she means it. This isn't the woman's fault. Somewhere along the way, she had to have gotten mixed up. Ingrid just stands there, awestruck. "You must be mistaken."

"No," Red replies, tucking something out of her pocket. "I'm not. When your parents had to send you away, they asked the Blue Fairy how they'd be able to find you, once it was all over. She gave them this."

She shows her an ordinary looking compass, its chain hanging from her hand. Red stands up, circling around Emma to prove her point. The arrow points towards where Emma is standing the entire way.

"What, was their original plan to hide me north?" Emma asks, skeptically eyeing the instrument. "Because I'm pretty sure we're south of the palace."

Red rolls her eyes. "This compass points towards you, wherever you are. So that they could always find you, like they found each other. You're the Savior, Emma."

Emma grimaces, unsure of how to respond. She's not a Savior, she knows, she's just Emma. Emma who points people in the direction of Ingrid, Emma who can outdrink at least three-fourths of the village, Emma the lost little girl who never mattered and didn't think she ever would.

She swallows, turning to Ingrid for guidance like she has so many times before.

Ingrid stands up, framing Emma's face in her hands.

"Oh, honey," she murmurs, as Emma's eyes traitorously start to water. "I always knew you were special, even if you never believed it yourself."

She's the Savior. Emma hardly even knows what that _means_. All the legends she's overheard have only described the Savior as some mythical entity that was prophesied to bring an end to the Evil Queen's reign on Misthaven. They didn't specify how. Just that, somehow, miraculously, the princess would be the one to end all of their suffering.

It's a hell of a lot of responsibility for someone who has no idea how the hell to accept it.

Emma can't find the words to reply to Ingrid, so she buries her head into the crook of her shoulder and tries to compose herself.

"You have to run," Ingrid murmurs, swaying with her in her arms. "You have to be brave and run away from here."

Emma lifts her tearstreaked face. "What about you?"

"I can take care of myself just fine," she grins, wiping a few of Emma's tears away. "There's a lot of demand for healers, these days. Granted, not as much as there must be for Saviors…"

Ingrid trails off, her tone intentionally light, but Emma is anything but excited at the prospect. She inhales, deeply, trying to clear her head and failing miserably.

(She didn't ask for this. Emma meets Red's eyes for a split second, nearly resentful of the hell she's just brought on to her, but the woman only gives her a sympathetic smile. It's hard to be angry with her.)

Ingrid tucks a lock of Emma's blonde hair behind her ear. "I love you, honey."

"I love you, too," Emma replies, a note of finality in her tone. Emma sags in resignation, exhausted and weary before she's even really begun. "I'm going to see you again, Mom."

She's never called her that, before, in over a decade that she's spent with her. Ingrid's eyes fill with tears as she embraces her once again.

Emma leaves the next day, headed who the hell knows where.

-/-

By the time Killian makes it to the cottage, there's a guard with a sword through his midsection on the stoop. No one appears to be inside, either.

Hook isn't sure if this is a bad sign or a good one. He's leaning towards the 'good enough' answer, given the only person dead is one of Regina's guards and there appear to be no signs of a struggle inside of the house when he opens the door. They likely, wisely fled after being alerted to the jeopardization of their safety.

They were safe, surely. He can't do much more.

When Killian heads back to the shop, Geppetto rises to greet him.

"Hello, Killian, I was just-"

The words leave his mouth before he can stop them. "I need to leave the village."

A bloody stupid thing to say, all things considered. He doesn't need to leave. He could stay here for as long as he wanted, so long as he isn't found. What happens to the Savior isn't much of his concern.

(Except it is, given that she could be his one and only chance at seeing Regina defeated once and for all. One day, a guard could recognize him or Regina could put up more signs displaying the price on his head. Then he's out of luck.)

"I understand," Geppetto says, looking as if he perhaps might.

"My family," he murmurs, distracted, "I've news that one of them could still be alive."

Geppetto just wishes him luck, insisting that he take some gold for his journey and telling him that he's always welcome to come back shall he ever find he needs anything. Killian doesn't know what he's done to deserve such kindness, his throat tightening and his grin wobbling, but he accepts it all the same.

(He regrets lying to such a good man, fearful of how he'd look at him if he knew the truth of who Killian really was.)

Hook said he'd stay here until he was able to figure out what to do next. Now, he has some semblance of an idea. Find the Savior, help her in defeating Regina, and move on his merry way to avenge the death of Milah once he lacks a bounty on his head.

Simple, yet effective.

He grabs his coat and hook from his satchel at the inn, with the thought that he may need the two in a fight. His facial hair is starting to grow back as well not that it truly matters.

(It might. He needs to be as devilishly handsome as possible if he's to convince a headstrong Savior to accept his help.)

-/-

It takes days for him to find her.

Which is a good thing, given that it will make her harder to find for Regina's men. When he finds her, that means the guards could.

That becomes all too apparent when Hook first spots her, sparring in the forest with a few of Regina's knights.

She's a hell of a fighter with a sword, he'll admit. Geppetto wasn't lying about her abilities. She's managing to keep two of the guards at bay with just her weapon and sheer force of will, but there's a third and fourth determined to get the title that comes with killing her.

The third is headed towards her while her back is turned. He runs a little faster, just as the guard behind her almost has her.

Killian quickly drives his sword through the distracted guard's back and whirls around to fight the surprised fourth. The sound of clanging swords fills the clearing and the Savior's surprised eyes meet his just as she dispatches one of the guards she's fighting. They're both left with one, backs to each other.

It only takes a few minutes to take care of them, between the two of them.

"What the hell was that?" Emma gasps out, chest heaving with exertion as she turns around to meet his eyes. Her expression turns even more incredulous as she recognizes him. "Killian?"

"Is that any way to thank someone who just saved your life?" he asks, triumphant smirk on his lips. It's been a few weeks since he's been in a proper fight, Killian has to say he's quite missed the feeling.

She isn't impressed. "Who the hell are you really?"

"Killian Jones," he introduces himself for the second time, his blood singing and his hopes high that this woman - the Savior - will be his next path to survival.

Her eyes flicker to the hook at the end of his left arm and the pirate's luck hanging from his neck. "Captain Hook."

It's a correction, one he's only a bit irritated by. "That would be my more colorful moniker, yes."

It only takes her a second to pin him to a tree, sword at his neck and scowl on her face. "You think that I don't know that you're one of Regina's biggest allies? Seriously? I might not have recognized you without the hook, but you're no blacksmith."

Of course, he tries to help this woman and her first instinct is to try to kill him. He groans in exasperation. "Technically-"

"Technically you could be sent here to kill me right now," she finishes, inaccurately, her mouth setting into a hard line.

"If that were the case, do you think I'd be fighting guards to save your neck?"

As much as he'd expected that the Savior would be reluctant to accept his help, he wasn't quite predicting her to try to kill him.

Her eyes narrow. "From what I've heard, mind games aren't new territory for you."

"Because you listen to all that you hear?"

Emma studies him for a moment, still holding her sword in place. "So you _don't_ work for Regina?"

"...Anymore," he finishes reluctantly, "let's just say we didn't see eye to eye on her methods."

"Oh, so you mean that mass slaughter isn't up your alley?" she questions sardonically, not sounding impressed in the slightest with his answer.

"Something like that," he huffs, realizing he's not going to get anywhere trading barbs with her.

Killian sighs dramatically as he considers his next move. He has no intention of hurting the Savior, sure, but that doesn't mean she won't kill him before he has a chance to really pitch his services. Killian ducks out of her grasp once her sword pulls back the slightest bit, nicking himself a bit in the process, and pulls his own blade out.

"I think we need to talk."

-/-

"I don't think we need to do anything," Emma counters, stalking around him in a circle. To say that the past few days have been overwhelming would be the understatement of the century. She's just discovered she was the Savior - whatever that even _meant_ \- and has been on the run from the Evil Queen's guards ever since. Now, pretty blacksmith has revealed himself to be Captain Hook, who she has heard plenty about. None of it was positive. That is, unless you consider killing people for Regina positive.

Then, he swoops in to take care of two guards trying to kill her and is trying to tell her he's on her side. Someone who kills Regina's targets - which she is now one of - is claiming he has her best interests at heart.

Yeah, right.

Her hand tightens on her sword.

"Or perhaps," he replies, groaning with exertion when he ducks another swipe of her sword, "and this may be a radical proposition - you could trust me."

"Do you ever shut up?"

"And deprive you of the melodious sound of my voice?" he spars, quickly meeting her sword with his with the sharp sound of clanging metal. "That would bring you _such_ despair."

All of his moves have been defensive, never attacking. Emma frowns. "Why aren't you attacking me?"

"You ever think, love, that I wasn't intending to?" Hook replies shortly, casting his sword aside to prove his point.

Emma gapes at the display, unsure of how to go forward. Her eyes flicker back and forth between his abandoned sword and his eyes, waiting for him to lurch for it. Which is stupid, because if he was intending to use it he wouldn't risk his life by tossing it.

"I didn't think you hero types were the sort to slice a man through when he's defenseless," he ponders aloud, looking at where his sword lies on the grass. "Should have tried that earlier. It may have saved me a few cuts and bruises. Then again, you did have a blade to my neck on that tree, so I suppose-"

"What do you want?" Emma asks, disbelieving and exasperated. She isn't letting go of her sword, but she isn't using it either.

"Darling, I think I made that rather obvious. Your trust."

"It's going to take a lot more than disarming to get me to trust one of Regina's allies, thanks."

"Former allies," he emphasizes with a tilt of his head. "Regina is after me, now that she's discovered I've been letting her targets go into hiding instead of killing them."

"Fine," she says shortly, sword still pointing towards him. "Assume I believe you."

"By some miraculous intervention or another," Hook scoffs.

She glares, lips pursed and countenance unimpressed.

He huffs, opening his hand and hook outward in what appears to be a pleading gesture. "By your benevolent decision to open your heart and mind to a scoundrel."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Who's to say you won't rip my heart out with your hook the second my back is turned? A great trophy for the Evil Queen, I'm sure."

He shrugs. "What alternatives have presented themselves, Highness? Believe me, the last thing I want to do is grovel for the help of royalty,"

"Because that stopped you with Regina," she replies derisively.

Hook sighs dramatically. "Fair point, but mine still remains. You can't run from her forever, not on your own."

"Who says I'm alone?" she challenges, again. Emma hopes he doesn't realize quite how much she's bluffing.

He only offers an over-the-top perusal of their surroundings, complete with standing on the tips of his toes to peer around the nearest trees.

Her mouth sets in a hard line and her knuckles tighten on the hilt of her sword. Hook has a point. She doesn't like it, but it remains there all the same.

"Look at me, love," he insists, finally, striding up until his heart is right under the tip of her sword. "Am I lying to you?"

He must have heard - maybe from Geppetto's big mouth - that she has more powers aside from the magical variation. Not that the Savior's magical powers have really shown themselves in her lack of ability to do anything besides float a feather. Emma frowns, taking him up on the offer regardless. As much as Hook is obviously untrustworthy and the type more likely to bargain for his survival than his dignity, his eyes remain focused on hers and Hook isn't exhibiting any of the usual tics of liars. He seems to be telling the truth.

It's only been a few days, but Emma is getting really tired of running alone.

"Don't think I'm taking my eyes off you for a second," she states, finally. It's a concession, as much as Emma would like to frame it otherwise.

His face splits into a broad grin. "I would despair if you did."


	2. Warmth

They continue trading barbs throughout the day, much to Killian's displeasure.

"As much as I appreciate your _help_ ," she says the last word as if it's anything but. He's mildly irritated by her tone. They've been walking since he convinced her to accept his - not at all sarcastic - help, eager to evade the queen's next advance of guards. Just because the two of them _can_ fight doesn't mean they should be over-exerting themselves. "Did you come here with any semblance of a plan to, I don't know, defeat the Evil Queen once and for all and save the kingdom?"

"You're the Savior," Killian points out. "Seems more of your job, really."

Emma's expression sours. She speeds up, a little, forcing Killian to work harder to match her stride. "Right. And you decided to track me down because…"

He sighs heavily. "As I said, you're not the only person the queen wants dead."

"So, what, double it and we suddenly both become safer?" her voice is drenched with skepticism.

She truly wasn't this unfriendly when he brought Geppetto in to Ingrid. Given the circumstances, however, he finds it difficult to blame her entirely.

"Two is better than one. I figure you could use a hand."

"Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"Well, love," he replies with a tight grin, attempting to be charming. "I don't know. Do you want it to be?"

He - valiantly - fails.

Emma stops, her annoyance clearly getting the better of her. She turns around to face him, angrily pointing at him as if he'd suspect an empty forest could have been the subject of her wrath. "Why? Why help me? Why join me when you could just stick around and hide in the village like you've apparently been doing for weeks now."

"It'd only be a matter of time before Regina would find me there," he answers curtly, stopping right along with her. He holds hand and hook up in a pacifying gesture, but she doesn't look any less perturbed.

"Because it's such a challenge to find us now?"

"It's certainly easier to fight them off," he finishes. "The two of us combined are better swordsmen than a dozen of Regina's guards put together."

"Swords people," she corrects automatically.

He cocks his head to the side. Perhaps he should really work to make his language more inclusive. "Fair enough, lass."

Emma just resumes stalking forward. Killian follows at her heels.

"Look, I know you think that working with the Savior, or whatever, is going to make you safer," Emma sighs, for once sounding less angry with him than with herself. "But it's not. I'm half-decent with a sword. I'm not some sort of enchantress who can kick Regina's ass with telekinesis, or whatever."

"Wasn't suggesting that you were," Killian retorts. "But you _are_ the Savior. Even if you are proving to have quite the complex about it already."

Emma scoffs. "A savior complex because I say I'm not exactly the most powerful Savior?"

"The self-deprecation will only get you so far, love, and it's not any closer to defeating Regina."

Her fists clench and her nostrils flare at his words. Emma stabs her finger into his chest accusingly. "I have spent _days_ fleeing from a bunch of Regina's guards who want me dead because of an identity I just discovered. I didn't want any of this. I don't want to be responsible for saving everyone. I don't want to have to be the one to kill some sociopath who thrives off of the suffering of others. I don't want to have to be here arguing with you over what being the goddamn Savior means. Who would want that? I want to go home and go back to my own bed and not have to worry about whether or not my mother is okay. I don't _want_ to be the Savior."

"That's too damn bad, then," Killian fires back, growing angry himself. "Because you are. And it's my neck and everyone else's that you're putting on the line if you decide you'd rather go back to being the healer's daughter!"

"It's not like I could if I wanted to, but great, Hook," Emma huffs in disbelief, hands coming to rub at her temples. "I get stuck with a pirate who lectures me on morality and responsibility. That's just fantastic."

"I'm not trying to lecture you. I am trying to save your life," he grits his teeth.

"No!" she shouts, getting right up in his face. "No, don't even try that with me. You're trying to save _your_ life. That's why you lied to Geppetto and manipulated him into taking you in so you just pretend to be some poor blacksmith, that's probably why you worked for Regina in the first place, and that's why you've deluded yourself into thinking that - for whatever reason - the Savior is going to be able to save you from the mess you've gotten yourself into."

He gapes.

(She's right. It stings how much she's right.)

Emma buries her head into her hands, fingers threading through her long hair. "And here I am, trying to convince myself that maybe I can so much as survive while the Evil Queen wants me dead. I'm so desperate that I'm even accepting your help even though I know your motives are nothing but selfish."

"Oh, I'm selfish?" he challenges, though he knows she's right. "That's rich. I just saved your neck from those guards!"

"Yeah," Emma replies sharply. "Because you thought it would save yours!"

"Does it matter?"

She curses then, eyes moving to gaze out at the expanse of forest in front of them. The anger leaves him as he quickly realizes how much weight she has suddenly had to hoist on her shoulders. As much as he can be a right prick about this, he knows she's right. Killian is, at best, a selfish opportunist. Emma didn't sign up to become responsible for the destiny of everyone in the kingdom.

"No," she exhales, the fight seemingly going out of her as it did him. "I guess not."

The silence between them as they walk forward, boots crunching on the leaves of the fall, is almost worse than her shouting at him.

As the minutes pass, it becomes evident that this alternative is definitely worse.

It's going to be a long journey between the two of them.

"So, what?" Emma asks, finally. "We avoid guards forever and keep walking in a straight line?"

"No," he says, shortly.

"Then what exactly is your plan?" she counters.

Hook sighs, heavily, as he walks past her. "Not that."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Fantastic. Great plan you have there."

"Here's a plan for you," he starts, whirling around to face her. "Stay alive."

"Comprehensive," she scoffs derisively, setting her hands on her hips.

"Do you have a better one?"

Emma's face twists into a frown, at that. She stares down at the forest floor, at the mud on her boots and the footprints they're leaving behind. Regina's men and women will have a field day with those, he's sure.

"No," she says, stiffly. "No I don't."

"That's what I thought."

-/-

It continues like that for another day. Killian and Emma fight off a handful of guards unlucky enough to cross paths with them, trade barbs, and try not to kill each other.

It's the stuff of legends, Emma is sure.

The _'try not to kill each other'_ part gets much more difficult when she almost breaks his arm after he suddenly pushes her up against the nearest tree.

"What the hell-" Emma struggles against him, kicking into his shins and scratching at his hand.

"Shh," Hook whispers, wincing at her attempts to attack him. "Listen."

She does. By the sounds of it it seems like multiple horses are coming through the forest, most likely pulling a carriage.

"Do you think it's-" Emma asks, keeping her voice hushed.

"No," he replies. "It just sounds like a passerby, if the queen or her guards were passing through we'd be hearing much more commotion that that. A wealthy passerby. Carriages don't come inexpensive..."

Hook seems to ponder that, for a moment.

"I'm not going to ask what you're thinking," she mutters, still pressed against him as they speak in low tones.

"Perhaps we could steal something from them," he suggests. "Supplies, perhaps. I don't know how much we'll be able to find to eat if it starts pouring."

Emma looks at him as if he's suggested they slit their throats. She shakes her head feverently, nose brushing up against his chest with the motion. "No. No. We have enough bread and berries saved to get by tonight, we don't need anything more."

He squints down at her, then, forehead touching hers with the motion. "Swan, don't tell a pirate you're averse to stealing."

"I'm not when it's necessary to get by," Emma mutters, thinking of her own past of pick-pocketing and the trouble that got her into. "We can last just fine without risking our lives on the off chance that we can get more supplies out of innocent passersby."

"Innocent passersby," he parrots, astonished. "Swan, you don't know the first thing about these people."

"Exactly," she says, curtly. "And even if they're not, imagine what could happen if they're the last people we want to see."

"Don't be ridiculous, love."

"Oh, yes, I'm going to sound really ridiculous if we storm into that carriage," she imitates his accent, and the sound is so terrible he looks as if it's a struggle to stifle his laughter. "Sorry, lasses and lads, for robbing your carriage. I see now you work for the Evil Queen and are the very people we're trying desperately to run from! Our bad! Say, do you have any _supplies_?"

He laughs, then, unable to help himself. His breath fans across her face as he does so, a contrast to the cool night air.

"I'm glad you think risking our lives is funny," she retorts.

Hook only shakes his head. "It's not, but your attempt at parroting my voice is going to keep me warm with mirth for nights to come."

Emma rolls her eyes. At that, the carriage sounds as if it's passed them, thankfully crushing any hopes Hook may have had of robbing it. This is really what she gets for deciding a pirate captain was her best option. Emma pushes him and it's enough of a sign to get him to disentangle her from between him and the tree.

It starts raining just as he starts to pout with the realization that his potential target is out of bounds for them. They can't even take two steps before they hear thunder. Which is just their luck, really. In the span of shitty things, this is just the icing on the cake.

Hook stares up at the sky, raindrops falling on his face as he does so. "Fantastic."

-/-

It's still raining when they decide that their legs have had enough and they huddle under their respective trees for shelter for the night. To say it's just 'cold' would be an understatement. Her cloak is soaked through and she feels like her every body part is going to frost over.

They can't even light a fire, thanks to all the rain.

"They could have had blankets," he mutters feebly. Hook won't seem to let the fucking carriage go. "Those seem quite necessary now, don't they?"

"Shut up," Emma grumbles, nestling further into her cloak. She can still feel the rough bark of the tree behind her back, but it at least provides some shelter from the rain.

"You should sleep first," Hook says, stripping off his heavy leather coat as he stands. "I'll keep watch."

He hands it to her. Emma frowns, looking up at him questioningly.

"You're freezing," he answers, shortly. "Having the Savior die from the cold hardly sounds like a good story for grandparents to tell their grandchildren, now, does it?"

"Neither does the pirate who froze into an icicle because he decided to be chivalrous," she replies stubbornly, keeping her hands inside her cloak.

"Actually, I think I've heard that one before," he deadpans, waving the leather in front of her. "True Love kept him warm when he received a shard of ice to the heart. Take the coat."

Emma takes it from his hand reluctantly, fingers brushing against his.

"Thank you," she breathes, meeting his eyes.

"Aye," Hook replies, a little tensely. "It's no trouble."

The coat helps, a little. Emma doesn't freeze. Still, she fades in and out of consciousness, failing miserably at getting any sort of real rest thanks to the rain and her discomfort. If Hook notices, he doesn't say anything.

The rain stops before the sun rises, though, so she mutters something about finding firewood and instructs him to go to sleep, handing over his coat back to him.

"I can do it, lass," he protests, at first. Hook's teeth chatter and she grimaces.

Emma shakes her head. "I need to get up and move or I'm going to go crazy. We need a fire if we don't want to freeze to death. You need sleep or you won't be any good to either of us."

Another retort seems ready on his lips, but he takes a look at her, her sopping wet hair stubbornly sticking to her face and shivering in her thin cloak, and must decide otherwise.

If anything, walking might stop her from freezing until she can start a fire.

"I won't sleep until you get back," Hook adds, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Just in case anything happens to you in the meantime."

"I can take care of myself," Emma sighs.

"I know," he mutters, hand coming up to rub at his bleary eyes. He adjusts himself to press more of his back against the trunk of the tree behind him. "That doesn't mean that it still couldn't happen."

Her mouth presses into a hard line. He's not saying this out of any genuine concern, just a desire to keep himself alive with her help, but, nevertheless, something in her softens at the gesture.

"Thanks," she says a little gruffly as she stands.

He just nods in place of a _'you're welcome'_. She'd be offended if they weren't both so damn tired.

-/-

Firewood collecting isn't all bad. At the very least, it's something to focus her mind on. And Emma's mind is very, very distracted. Fogged and hazed with a lack of sleep, her anxieties start to become even worse. The black knights that are tracking their every move, the unknown status of Ingrid's safety, her parents, Hook's questionable loyalty...

It's a mess, to put it lightly. But firewood collecting, just breaking off twigs and hacking off bits of wood, is a methodical process. She can focus on the banality of the steps, the process, instead of thinking about what a clusterfuck her life has transformed into in the span of days.

Thinking about how not to get a splinter is a far better alternative than imagining the various ways she could be violently murdered for powers she may or may not have.

So, firewood it was.

Sadly, she doesn't even get much solace in that before she hears footsteps tracking behind her. Emma freezes.

"Hook, that better be you, or I _swear."_

"You need any help, miss?" a voice, decidedly not Hook's calls behind her. Emma panics, for a moment, wondering who the hell her back is turned to.

She withdraws her sword, turning around to face the intruder - can it be an intruder if it's not your home? - head on.

He's a knight, but his armor is much lighter than the variation that Regina's knights wear. It's the kind of armor that used to be popular years ago in Misthaven, if the pilfered storybooks she remembers from when she was a kid are anything to go by.

"Whoa, miss, I don't mean any harm," the knight stills for a moment, cocking his head to the side as if in the process of realizing something crucial. "Emma?"

Her eyes widen and her grip tightens on the sword in her hand. "How do you know my name? Do you work for the queen?"

The knight shakes his head, quickly. "Farthest thing from it. Emma. I can't _believe_ it's really you."

"You aren't helping me much," Emma says, growing more and more confused by the second. "If you don't work for Regina, who the hell do you work for?"

"Your parents," he answers simply.

She almost drops her sword. Quickly scanning his face for any trace of a lie, she doesn't find one. "You're serious."

"Yeah," he replies with a breathless laugh. "I am. I married them, believe it or not. I can't believe I finally get to meet you, after all these years. I only recognized you because, well, the posters named you-"

"You know my parents," Emma stutters the words out, but they sound more like a question than a statement. Her voice is too high pitched, too vulnerable, but she can't help it.

She's always had questions about her parents. It's hard not to, having seen hide nor hair of them for all her life. The family that took her in until she was around five or six was kind enough, sure, until the mother got pregnant and they decided they could only handle feeding one child. After that, and a few more failed attempts by well-meaning samaritans, Emma quickly learned she could only rely on herself.

There was the innkeeper who had her clean and forgot to feed her, the barmaid left her behind after an encounter with a man who promised her the world, and the kindly grandfather who got very, very sick. When he died, Emma was nine. From then on until Ingrid happened, she was alone and stuck pilfering from street vendors and finding abandoned houses to sleep in.

During that time, it was safe to say that she had very, very many thoughts about the mystery of her parents. If she was that much of a disappointment, such a disgrace that when she was just born that they didn't even wait until she could _talk_ before they ditched her...

"Can you tell me about them?" she asks, a little mystified by the possibility. Her encounter with Red didn't last long enough for her them to talk about anything other than the basics of her identity and how soon she should run. "My parents?"

Lancelot's face softens. "Of course. You must have a lot of questions."

"Yeah," she says, exhaling sharply. "You could say that."

"Do you need help carrying your firewood?" he asks, gesturing to the pile beside her. "I can walk you back to your camp. My wife is just collecting wood, herself, so we could set up a fire of our own. We could join you, if you wanted?"

Emma tenses up for a moment remembering Hook and his promise to stay awake. She worries about leading them back to him before she reminds herself that she _can_ trust Lancelot. After two minutes of speaking to him, it's easy to tell he's the type of man who exudes trustworthiness.

"Yeah," she answers, shivering again once the shock wears off and she remembers just how cold it is. "I think I've got it with the firewood, but I'd love the company. Um, I have someone with me, too, but he shouldn't mind."

"Someone with you?" Lancelot questions, confused. "Who?"

"It's a really long story," she laughs, shaking her head as she leans down to gather the wood. "He's on the run from the queen, too."

"Ah," Lancelot replies with a grin. "I see. My wife, Guinevere, we met under...strange circumstances, to say the least."

"Oh," she replies, confused. It takes her a minute to realize the impact of what he's saying. "Oh. Oh, no. It's nothing like that."

Lancelot raises his eyebrows, but doesn't say much else as they he follows her back to the camp.

-/-

"Bloody hell, love, I thought I'd have to sear-"

Hook's words trail off as Lancelot enters the clearing behind her. Lancelot catches a glimpse of Hook's namesake. They both draw their swords, so quickly she barely has time to process what just happened.

"Whoa," Emma exhales, quickly putting herself between the two men's swords. Her hands are held up, pleadingly, blocking both of their movements. "Hold on, one second."

"Emma," Lancelot grits out. "I don't know who you think this man is..."

"And I have no idea who this bloody man is," Hook replies, indignant.

"Captain Hook," she answers, bluntly, voice colored with exasperation. "Yeah, I know. And I know that he used to work for Regina."

Lancelot's stance softens only marginally. "What makes you so confident that he truly 'used to' work for her and he's not doing just that, right now?"

"Mate," Hook starts, before Emma shushes him with a hand on his chest as she steps in front of him. Lancelot isn't going to believe a word he says, as things stand now.

"We kind of took care of that in a sword fight, so, yeah, it's been settled. If you don't trust him," she flounders for a moment, because she isn't even sure if _she_ trusts him, "then trust me."

Lancelot considers this briefly before sheathing his sword back into his belt.

"Who the bloody hell is this?" Killian asks, finally, eyes darting between Emma and Lancelot.

"Lancelot," Emma answers, gesturing towards the man in question. "He's friends with my parents."

A beat passes among them, the two men evidently too stubborn to say anything to each other.

She sighs. "Lancelot, Killian. Killian, Lancelot."

"My, love, I think this is the first time you've actually called me by my name since I left your mother's," Killian quips, reluctantly lowering his sword.

"Your mother's?" Lancelot repeats, confused.

"Um, the woman who took me in," she explains briefly, the question catching her by surprise. Footsteps sound not far behind her and interrupt the rest of the words on the tip of her tongue, so Emma whips around to face the source.

Killian raises his sword again as a woman enters the clearing.

"That's Guinevere," Lancelot tells him, quickly moving to her side. "She's my wife. Please, refrain from pointing weapons at her."

Hook lowers his sword, once again. The circumstances seem to be confusing the hell out of him. Emma isn't doing much better.

"You want to tell me what's going on?" Guinevere asks Lancelot, understandably even more perplexed by the situation in front of her.

"That," Lancelot points at Emma, "is Emma."

Emma notices his word choice. She's not the Savior, not the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, just Emma. She doesn't know what to do with that.

Just that seems to be enough to make Guinevere's face split into a wide smile. "Emma! I've heard so much about you!"

She wishes she could say the same about either of them, Emma thinks, but she holds her tongue. "Hello," she offers stiffly in reply.

"This is Hook," Lancelot introduces, sounding just as uncomfortable as Emma feels.

Killian gives a little bow, in response. "Nice to meet you, mi'lady."

There's a stilted silence in the clearing for a few moments.

"Have either of you slept?" Guinevere asks, concern seeping in her tone. "You must be freezing, too, you both are soaking wet."

"Emma needs sleep," Killian says, shortly. "No matter what she says, the lass is exhausted."

"So are you," Emma rebuts, rolling her eyes. Tattling on her for being tired? The man is full of mysteries.

Guinevere only tuts while Lancelot shakes his head.

"Your coat can stay on, the leather should be fine,," she says, pointing at Killian. "But you, Emma, have to take off the cloak. Soaking wet fabric isn't going to help you stay warm."

Emma only whines, a little, while she tugs it off.

"Do you have any blankets?" Guinevere asks.

Emma and Killian share a look.

(She swears, if he says something about the damn carriage, she's going to hurt him.)

Guinevere only sighs heavily, digging out two blankets from her pack.

"Here," she offers, one to each of them.

"We can't possibly -" Emma begins, but Guinevere only shushes her.

Lancelot gives them both a knowing look. "We have extra. She won't let you turn them down."

She sighs and takes them, offering Guinevere a quick word of thanks.

-/-

Emma falls asleep not long after she curls up in one of the couple's offered blankets.

Killian, however, is wide awake. Swan may have trusted the couple almost immediately - a baffling rarity for her, he's already sure - but he's not quite convinced that being old friends of Snow White and Prince Charming is a convincing enough story for him to believe. He isn't even sure that the king and queen are still alive, frankly, no matter what another mysterious, conveniently appearing old family friend of Emma's may have claimed.

He'd never tell Emma of his suspicions about her parents' welfare, of course. It could crush her feelings and, as a result, their chances at survival. If the Savior loses hope that her parents - the legendary paragon of all that's good and pure - are alive, well -

It could bode very poorly, indeed.

So he scoots closer to Emma and sits with his eyes wide open. To fall asleep right now would leave him perfectly vulnerable, a state he can hardly afford with two strangers. He can't afford to leave the Savior and possibly his only chance at revenge at risk like this.

"You should sleep," Guinevere says.

He narrows his eyes. "I'm fine as is, thanks."

"The bags under your eyes say otherwise," the knight - Lancelot - points out.

"Do they?"

Guinevere sighs, just as she gets the fire to light. "You can trust us, you know."

Hook just stays stubbornly silent. He jerks every few moments, in order to keep himself awake - and fights the drooping of his eyes valiantly. These past days, between searching for Emma and being on alert for guards, haven't done wonders for his rest. He's caught maybe a few hours of sleep total since he left Geppetto's.

But, still, he has to stay awake.

-/-

When Emma wakes up, Killian is passed out asleep a few feet away from her.

"Can you believe he tried telling us that he wasn't going to go to sleep because he didn't trust us?" Guinevere laughs, meeting Emma's eyes as she sits up.

"Did he really?" Emma asks blearily. They look like they've managed to build a healthy fire, one that crackles and sizzles when she walks to join the couple by it.

"Mhm," Lancelot murmurs, armor off and roasting some kind of meat.

Emma's stomach grumbles. "He really hasn't been sleeping much at all, these past few days. I'm surprised he lasted that long before collapsing."

"Hungry?" Lancelot asks.

Emma nods apologetically as she sits down next to them. "Sorry. It was hard to try to hunt last night, thanks to the thunderstorm."

He cuts her off a sliver of the meat. "No trouble at all. So, do you trust the pirate?"

There's a question worth its weight in gold.

Emma bites her lip, thinking about it for a moment.

"He seemed pretty concerned that we were going to try something while you were asleep," Guinevere adds. "Hardly what I was expecting, honestly."

The corner of her mouth turns upwards. "He's full of surprises."

As if being summoned, Killian stirs.

Emma chuckles, moving to stand over him. "Good morning, sunshine."

He jerks awake, eyes wide and panicked. "Emma? What the bloody-"

"You fell asleep," she tells him, gently. "The world didn't end, you should know."

Killian rubs the sleep out of his eyes, slowly sitting up. He eyes the couple by the fire with something like suspicion.

"We made breakfast," Lancelot points out, gesturing to the fire. "Join us."

Killian looks a little skeptical at first, but joins in.

"I haven't felt this much distrust since I met your parents," Lancelot laughs. Killian can only offer him a half-hearted scoff.

"Speaking of," Emma reminds him, "you did promise me stories about them."

Guinevere smiles at the reminder. "They are the reason Lance and I met, after all."

-/-

Killian, of course, is stuck all morning listening to the various tales of Emma's parents' adventures. From their meeting by robbery to their wedding, they seem to lead quite the lives. The lives of grand heroes, by the couple's accounts.

Emma is, understandably, entranced.

He still doesn't trust the lot, he swears. But for whatever, strange, absurd reason - Emma does.

Emma, the woman who trusts as easily as she is beaten in a swordfight.

(Which, is to say, not easily.)

(To be fair, he quite literally threw that one, but nonetheless.)

They resume their walk through the expansive forest with Lancelot and Guinevere by their sides. Lancelot and Emma quickly get engrossed in their own conversation - this one, from what he can tell - involves strange water that nearly prevented her mother from being able to conceive until her grandmother and Lancelot came to find a solution.

He knows more about Swan's bloody family history than he does his own, by now. Maybe this is the reason Emma is so quick to trust them.

(That, and they have been nothing but generous to the both of them.)

Guinevere, though, falls behind a little bit to fall into step with Killian.

He raises an eyebrow, surprised.

"What made you decide to go after Emma and help her?"

An expected question, sure. "Asking of my motives, now?"

Guinevere shrugs. Emma and Lancelot's conversation continues, steadily, in front of them. "I'm curious. Can you blame me?"

"Perhaps I'd like to see the queen out of power, given she wants to kill me. That must be an understandable motivation, surely,"

Emma throws her head back to laugh at some story or another. Killian has to say he's a little relieved at the sight, given the circumstances, and his eyes stay fixed on her smile.

Guinevere clears her throat, beside him. "Did you just hear me?"

Killian was unaware she said anything. He scratches behind his ear, a tad embarrassed, "Er, no. Sorry, love."

"I was going to ask why you chose to help her, out of all your options," Guinevere starts, the corners of her lips pulling upwards. "Now I see that it isn't necessary."

His eyebrows furrow, at that. "What do you mean?"

Guinevere just speeds up to meet her husband, then, wrapping her hand around his elbow instead of giving him a reply.

They're a cryptic pair, too. Wonderful.

-/-

Emma continues peppering Lancelot with questions even after Guinevere and Killian have fallen asleep. She's had twenty-eight years to come up with a list of them and almost a week to add even more specific ones to the list. Whether she's at a campfire in the middle of the night with a stranger or not, there's a broken girl somewhere inside her that needs answers.

There's one unanswered question that's been weighing the heaviest on her throughout the years.

"Do you know where my parents are?"

"I have not seen them in years," Lancelot admits, carefully. "The last I saw they were in hiding in a nearby kingdom, but it's likely that they've moved in the meantime."

"Oh," she says, trying and failing to conceal her disappointment.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Emma mutters, resting her chin on her hand. "Thank you, though. For putting up with me and all I want to know. I know it must be really-"

"It's no trouble at all, Emma," Lancelot insists. "You're just a woman with a lot of questions about where she comes from. You just got a lot of responsibility thrust upon you. It's natural for you to want to know more."

Emma exhales deeply, trying to reason with herself. "Yeah. You're right."

The two of them fall into a brief silence while Emma carefully weighs her thoughts.

"Do you know what you're going to do from here?" Lancelot asks suddenly. "I can't imagine it's been easy to discover you're the Savior, then be immediately pursued by bloodthirsty lackeys."

Emma snorts. "That's putting it lightly. And no, so far it's just been…" she gestures, haphazardly, "running and hoping for the best."

"I can understand that."

"But it's obviously hardly the most ideal plan," Emma sighs. "Given that it's not one at all. I'm supposed to be the Savior, I'm supposed to defeat Regina. But I don't have any better idea of what to do than any other person you pick out on the street."

"Don't be unfair to yourself, Emma," Lancelot insists gently.

"Now a bunch of people are counting on me," she emphasizes, again. "I heard stories, all through my childhood, about how one day everyone's misery would end and the queen would be overthrown. All they needed was a Savior. They rely on that hope every single day. And here I am - wandering around without the slightest hint of what to do. I don't even know if Regina _can_ be defeated."

"There is one thing that might work," Lancelot sighs, contemplatively. "But according to many, it's nothing more than a myth."

"Yeah, well," Emma replies candidly. "I thought I was a myth, too. Now look at me."

He laughs. "Fair enough, Emma. There's a legend of a box - the kind that can fit in the palm of your hand - that has the ability to trap any person inside of it."

"Even the Evil Queen," she finishes, meeting his eyes.

"Yes," Lancelot says. "Even the Evil Queen. So long as you were in the same room as her, all you will need to do is have that box."

She frowns, brow furrowed in concentration. "Where is this box?"

Lancelot shrugs, opening his hands up in a helpless gesture. "That's the question."

"Are there any whispers, maybe, of where it could be?" Emma presses, further.

"There may be a few magical volumes, but, truthfully, I haven't done much research on it myself."

Emma considers this, staring into the flames of the fire in front of her.

It's not much at all.

But it's something.

-/-

Guinevere and Lancelot pack up their things to head their separate ways the next morning. Lancelot heads to clearing, his pack in hand, to ensure his supplies are all in order. For whatever reason, Killian offers to help him.

Which leaves her and Guinevere.

"Where are you guys off to, after this?" Emma asks, sidling up to where she's sitting, unable to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

"We have to head to a camp, one where the victims of Regina can hide safely," Guinevere explains, fiddling with the tie of her pack. "We - Lancelot and I - guard it most of the time. We switch out with Robin and Marian when we need to go for supplies. That's what we were coming back from when we met you two."

"We could come with you," Emma suggests, anticipation seeping into her voice. A place to hide from Regina sounds like exactly where they need to be. Plus, she can hear more about her parents from Lancelot and Guinevere and she won't have to run endlessly from-

Her thoughts still when Guinevere's expression turns apologetic.

"But if we did that, we'd be putting everyone at risk by directing Regina and her men back here," Emma surmises, disappointed. "I understand."

"I'm so sorry, Emma," Guinevere murmurs sincerely. "I wish our paths didn't have to part ways."

"It's okay," she reassures the older woman. "I think I have an idea of what we need to do now, anyway."

A very, very loose idea. But an idea nonetheless.

A thought comes to her, then. "This is going to be a weird favor to ask you, but..."

"Anything," Guinevere says automatically.

Emma grins, a little shakily, at the response. "If you run into a healer named Ingrid at the camp..."

She pauses, considering her words. Emma and Ingrid didn't get much of a chance to talk before Emma had to flee. All they really had time to do was say their goodbyes as she, Ingrid, and Red all went their separate ways. Ingrid mentioned she might have a place in mind to flee to, though, one where her skills could be needed and she wouldn't be likely to be found.

Emma wonders if that place would be something like the camp Marian spoke of.

"If you run into a healer named Ingrid at the camp," Emma repeats, voice a little steadier. "Tell her that Emma is safe and she loves her."

Guinevere's face softens, at that. "And this Ingrid is your mother?"

"My other mother," a weird sentence to say, but one she does nonetheless, "yeah. I didn't get a chance to find out much about where she left to when I did."

"I'll pass along the message if I see her," Guinevere assures her. "She sounds like a phenomenal woman."

"Thank you," Emma murmurs, genuinely grateful for the woman's seemingly endless compassion.

"Nonsense," Guinevere insists, moving to hug her. "We're practically family, you know. Family looks out for each other."

Emma wraps her arms around the other woman, tightly. "I guess we are, huh?"

-/-

Lancelot enlisting his help for 'checking supplies' seems to just be an excuse for questioning his intentions. It isn't much of a surprise, admittedly.

"So," Lancelot begins, a little tensely as they walk past the camp. "What made you decide to quit working with Regina?"

Killian grimaces. "I don't think it was a matter of quitting as much as it was escaping with my life intact."

"So you didn't quit willingly?" Lancelot asks, voice stiff. He isn't impressed in the slightest by the connotations of this.

"Well," Killian replies dryly. "I suppose that's what happens when you don't kill who she wants you to kill."

"You were her assassin, yes, I know that much."

And he sounds disgusted by _that much,_ naturally. Hook can't blame him.

"I don't know how grand of an assassin I was if I told the people I was sent to kill to hide and never be found again."

"You've been helping the resistance," Lancelot stills, eyeing Killian with newfound interest. "We've taken in a few who claim the queen's assassins let them go, but they refused to say who."

"It's good to see they stuck to their word," Killian retorts. He doesn't know much at all about any resistance movement, truthfully, but he did tell his not-quite-victims to never utter his name in any case they _were_ found. "I can't have my reputation being tarnished, now, can I?"

(Hook wonders what his reputation must be now. If any of his old crewmembers - should they be alive - hear he's run off with the Savior of Misthaven and decide that it took 200 years for dementia to set in.)

(This may very well be the case.)

"Why did you even work for her in the first place?" Lancelot questions, confused.

Killian thinks of his endless quest for revenge, for a moment. He thinks of Milah, her dark curls and her winning smile. He thinks of Rumplestiltskin, crushing her heart right in front of him for daring not to love a coward.

"Why does anyone?" he diverts, a familiar tactic of his, instead of answering the knight directly.

Lancelot seems to accept this at face value.

-/-

When they get back to the encampment, Guinevere and Emma are already packing up.

"Where are you off to next?" Killian asks, turning to Lancelot.

"A separate direction, we're afraid. We've got a lot of work to do."

Guinevere ambles up to grasp her husband's hand, tangling her fingers with his. "Just as you two do."

It helps that now, at least, Emma has an idea of where to go from here aside from just _'don't get killed'_.

"I'm sure you do," Killian replies lightly, moving to stand next to Emma.

She sends him a curious look at his sudden shift of tone, wondering what kind of bonding Lancelot and he did in the forest. Killian shoots her a nonplussed expression in response. Emma, still with more questions than answers, directs her attention back to the Guinevere and Lancelot.

"Thank you," Emma tells the couple, "For all your help. I can't thank the two of you enough."

Guinevere smiles broadly at her as she disentangles herself from Lancelot to lean in and grasp Emma's hand. "Anytime. I hope our paths cross again."

"Me too," she replies sincerely giving the other woman a grin of her own. She squeezes her hand before she lets it go.

Lancelot turns to face the two of them. "It was an honor to finally meet you, Emma. I hope I run into your parents, again, so I can tell them what a wonderful, brave, strong woman you've turned out to be. They're so proud of you, I can already tell you that."

Her heart pangs, thinking of the couple she's never met. She hugs Lancelot, then, unsure of how to reply with anything else. "Thank you so much."

"No," he replies, leaning back to face her. "Thank you. Make sure that pirate stays on the straight and narrow, hm?"

"Mate, I think we have more to worry about than that," Killian retorts, loitering behind Emma. Lancelot only shakes his head.

"Have safe travels," Guinevere instructs kindly. "The both of you."

"Even you, Hook. You know, you aren't all that bad," Lancelot adds cheekily.

"Could say the same of you, knight," Killian replies, the corners of his lips twitching in an obvious effort to suppress his smile.

Emma's eyes meet his, and the effort fails. She meets his smile with a reluctant one of her own.

They watch them leave before grabbing their packs and heading forward.

 **A/N: Updated a little earlier than I thought I would, blame the spoiler hype. Thank you so much for reading. Hope you enjoy!**

-/-

Killian and Emma fall into a comfortable silence for a little while, lost in their own thoughts.

"I'm not used to relying on the kindness of strangers," Killian says, a little abruptly. "Found it to be quite the opposite, really, when it comes to people I don't know. People I'm acquainted with, as well."

She considers his words, mouth turning downwards as she realizes just how alone he is (was, now) in the grand scheme of things. "Well, now, you are."

He only offers a fond, sad smile in reply.

"We need to find a library," she states, eyes breaking from his to fix on the horizon. "You any good at research?"

He stares at her, for a moment. Stares at the determination in her eyes, the confidence of her stance. The accidental collision with her parents' friends seemed to have done wonders for her confidence. "Quite, actually."

"Good," Emma replies, looking at him for a brief moment. "Because we have some work to do."

"Are you saying we have a plan?" Killian asks glibly, a grin creeping on his lips.

"Depends," she shrugs. "You know anything about a box?"

"I could learn, perhaps."

The grin stays on his lips for the rest of the morning.


	3. The Library

_**A/N: Wednesdays, from here on out, will hopefully be the regular update day for this fic! I've got it all plotted out and I started working on the 6th chapter, so here's hoping! You guys have to keep me accountable on this. Seriously, you have to. I've been really overwhelmed by the response to this fic so far and! WOW! Thank you so much! And thanks to Amber, Steph, and Ella - without whom this chapter would be garbage/nonexistent.**_

-/-

You would think that it wouldn't be much for her to ask for them to go another day without encountering more of an army intent on killing them.

You would think.

Emma, however, doesn't have the luxury of perfectly reasonable expectations when she - yet again - is met with a handful of dark-armored knights. They're not a stealthy bunch, the guards, so when she hears the familiar sound of racing footsteps all she has to do is turn to Hook with an exasperated look and swear as they both draw their swords.

"Oi," he calls out with an exasperated gesture, hook and sword thrust into the air in a clear challenge. "You suppose the trees heard you with all the stumbling about you're doing?"

Emma rolls her eyes. "Yes, Hook, please incite the people who want us dead."

They're out of sight for the moment, sure, but judging by the sound of the knights' feet on the dirt and the rattling of their metal armor, it'll only be moments before they come in with their swords at the ready. Outracing them can only work so much of the time when they need things like sleep and food to function. The two of them have found out that they're best off fighting off the small number of guards the Evil Queen sends after them and giving the following hunting parties a harder time at catching up with them.

The numbers of this group of guards in particular, though, is a little concerning.

Emma shares a concerned look with Hook as her hand tightens a little on her sword, eyeing the - now plenty visible - group with trepidation. They're bigger in numbers than usual, and while she thinks they have a definite fighting chance…

It's cutting it a little close.

Killian, however, seems to share none of her apprehension. He just grins, the sight almost feral, as he knocks down the first guard who charges at him without batting an eyelash.

"Hook," she says, quickly ducking a swipe of a guard's sword with a groan.

"Bit busy here, lass."

She rolls her eyes, knocking the guard in front of her to the ground with a carefully placed kick. "Behind you."

He turns around to meet the guard's sword with his own, just in time. "Ah. Thanks, love."

She grunts in response, hitting the guard beside her with the handle of her sword as hard as she can manage. He collapses, predictably.

After he's done taking care of the almost-backstabber, Hook whirls around with a dramatic flourish so that the two of them are back to back. "Do I still have an enemy at my back, now?"

"Depends," she shrugs, despite the fact he can't see it. "Are you going to overcook the rabbit meat, again?"

He gasps so dramatically she's almost worried he's been stabbed by his challenger. If she wasn't so preoccupied with the last guard in her line of sight she'd turn around to check for mortal wounds. "That was one time, lass."

"That was last night," she corrects.

"For the love of-" the guard she's fighting with curses, irritation evident even under his helmet. "Do either of you ever shut up?"

"Nope," Emma retorts, finding a spot he's left vulnerable without chain mail - his neck - and runs her sword through it. The things men will do for vanity, she swears. "We don't."

She hears a grunt beside her and moves to face the fighters, concern briefly flitting across her features. Emma sighs of relief when it's evident that it's the man he's fighting that's been defeated, not him.

Killian must notice when he turns around to face her, judging by the way his expression turns from grim determination to knowing bravado. "Worried, were you?"

"Please," Emma scoffs. "Just making sure you hadn't gotten yourself stabbed."

He grins, teeth showing and dimples pronounced. "Some would say you protest too much, I dare say."

Emma diverts the subject, instead, eyeing the bodies littering the forest with a grimace. It's not a pretty sight. Before all of this happened, it probably would have made her sick. But, past a point, the two of them have to stay alive. Hopefully Regina doesn't send too many more guards to do her dirty work for her, it was enough of a challenge to deal with the amount today. "How many was that?"

"Seven," he sighs, sheathing his sword. "I believe that's a new record."

"She's sending more men, then," Emma observes with a grimace, wiping her sword on the grass in an attempt to get the blood off of it.

Killian seems nonplussed. "Regina knows she'll run out, eventually."

"Really?" Emma raises an eyebrow, skeptically. "Because we both know threats are a pretty effective way of getting people to do what you want. They're a big recruitment tool."

"Ah, because it worked so well on us," he smiles down at her, eyes crinkling as he sways into her space.

Emma flushes, quickly averting her eyes. "Not everyone is like us."

"Fair enough," he replies in turn, eyes flitting across the clearing. "Reckon we should get going before we are joined by any more...friends."

"If you define friends as people trying to kill you, that would explain a lot," Emma snorts, a smile creeping on her face in spite of herself.

"You haven't tried to kill me in a while," Killian points out. "Suppose that has to count for something."

"In my defense, having the queen's assassin stalking you in the woods after you just found out that she wants you dead isn't exactly-"

"Relax, love," he replies, a laugh bubbling on his lips. "I'm only teasing."

-/-

There's something about running for your life that makes explanations a little difficult, especially when it involves obscure magical objects and wishful thinking.

"What you're saying to me, Swan, is that we need to find a box to put the Evil Queen in so we can be rid of our problems once and for all?"

"When you say it like that, it sounds stupid."

Hook raises his eyebrows, replying with his expression more than his words could.

"It sounds stupid to me, too, okay, but this magical box could be the only thing to save our damn lives," Emma says with a huff, kicking a stone in their path in frustration. It definitely sounds stupid, but beggars can't be choosers. They've been walking just to walk in the other direction, at this point. This pursuit is one of the most pointless she's ever been apart of. Or, well, it would be if the motivation of staying alive wasn't powering their every step.

They should really speed up, come to think of it. After the last skirmish, the two of them came up with a system to point the men in the wrong direction, with wayward paths and false camp set ups (that he insisted on, but she's sure it only cut into their time and endangered them even further). They managed to evade most of the guards in the hours afterwards. Still, it's not ideal.

 _None_ of this is ideal. Ideal would be somewhere back in her village with Ingrid, not worrying about the next head on the chopping block of the queen. Hook would be off somewhere stealing from merchant ships and far too damn busy to annoy the living hell out of her.

Hook accepts her statement with some reluctance. "And, somehow, we need to conspire to find it? Well, love, I wonder where in all the realm could such a box be hidden."

"That's why I suggested research," Emma points out, meeting his eyes as they walk side by side. "Find a book on magical objects and hope for the best, right?"

"Just so we're perfectly clear-"

"I'm sure we are."

He huffs, but continues nonetheless. "The two of us need to find a book on magical objects, with the hopes that it will contain a section on what we only know as Magical Box that will lead us to said Magical Box,"

"Lancelot really didn't get into the naming part," she defends herself, a little miffed. "I didn't name it. If I did, it'd be the Let Emma Not Get Murdered box."

"You forgot to add the Hook, in that."

"Did I?"

The words are more teasing than venomous, which he recognizes with a shake of his head. Hook moves to rummage in his pack, stopping in his tracks. Hook pulls out what looks to be a piece of parchment and studies it.

Emma is baffled, to say the least. She stops right alongside him. "Catching up on some reading? Does a Captain's log need finishing because - I gotta admit - I don't think we have time to write in our diaries, Hook."

He raises his eyebrows at the comment, but doesn't react. "Ever seen a map, love?"

That would make sense. "So, what, you have a map collection but forgot blankets?"

"Forgive me for my lack of camping prowess," he scoffs, "but I think you'll be quite thankful for my navigational skills once we get to your desired destination, love. If you need an expansive library I have an idea of where we could find one. A life of sailing has taught this pirate this much, especially if the object in question is much less valuable than treasure."

Emma considers that, setting her hands on her hips and chewing on her bottom lip in contemplation. "That reminds me - where is your ship?"

"Safe," Hook replies, shortly. "Hidden. Can't have the Evil Queen burning it down now, can I? What's a pirate without his ship?"

"A pain in the ass with a big mouth," Emma deadpans.

Hook only gives her an exaggerated smirk in response. "Two assets of mine I think you appreciate plenty."

She groans at the line. It's a new one, sure, but on a similar vein of what he's been saying for days now. Emma attempts for some seriousness, noting with some interest the way he spoke of his ship. "Is the plan to reunite with your ship once this is all over? Go on the next great adventure?"

"Not quite," he sighs, staring off in the distance with a sad sort of melancholy. "I don't think things will work out quite well, for me."

She can read between the lines easily enough.

"What," Emma asks, a little brittle. "That sure that the Savior is going to fail already?"

"No," he replies earnestly. She notices the way he's pressing the flat side of his hook on his right wrist with some interest, as if he's being pulled back by something under his skin. "That's not it. I have yet to see you fail, Swan. I doubt I ever will."

She feels a little warm at the compliment, but brushes the feeling aside. "Then what?"

Killian's mouth sets with a downward curve. He just holds up the map in his hand and gestures forward. "We should get going. If we need information on this box, then we'll find it. There aren't many libraries left in the kingdom after the Evil Queen took over, from what I hear, but I know of at least one that has quite the expansive collection."

Evasion is a tactic she knows well enough, so she just blows out a long breath and rubs at her forehead. "After you, oh wise and humble guide."

-/-

It takes them a few days, but they end up where they need to be. The sight of buildings and markets is oddly reassuring, given the past week of becoming accustomed to the wilderness. Killian swears this village is the one that has the library they're looking for, but at this point she almost doesn't care. The thought of the indoors is enough to inspire enthusiasm.

"Look," Emma presents, gesturing out to the houses as they walk. It's dark as night outside (they would have arrived sooner had he listened to her about turning right, she swears) and the light of the moon barely illuminates their path. She does see a few lanterns, though, which is a good sign. "It's civilization! I feel like we've almost forgotten what it looks like."

Hook chuckles, at that. "Aye. I daresay neither of us prefer the unforgiving nature of the outdoors."

"Is a pirate ship not the outdoors?" she asks, turning to face him with confusion.

"There's a clear distinction between water and land," he grumbles. "Particularly when it's the deck of a ship and the grime of a forest."

"Fair enough," she says with a conciliatory shrug. "So, should we find that library?"

"I'd say it's much too late to bother the librarian," he replies. "I think I see an inn, over there. I reckon I have enough gold to stay the night there."

"An inn," she exhales in relief at the thought of sleeping in a real bed and eating food she didn't have to catch herself.

"Aye," he replies, rummaging in his satchel to swap his hook out for a wooden hand. It secures into place with a click. "An inn."

-/-

The innkeeper doesn't offer them so much as a passing glance when Killian sets the gold on the table. She only pushes a key across the table.

Emma pinches her face. "Only one?"

The woman shrugs. "Unless your lover wants to pay for a second…"

"He's not -"

Killian shoots her a look. "Won't be necessary. Have a pleasant night, miss."

He grabs the key and walks up the stairs, Emma hot on his heels. "Seriously?"

"We need to be careful with gold, lass," he sighs. "At least we're sheltered from the cold in this place."

Emma huffs, but doesn't offer a reply. He's right, she knows he's right. Anything is better than curling up on the grass. It's not like the two of them have gotten much privacy lately anyway.

Killian stops in front of the door that matches the number on the key, twisting it in and opening the door. Emma deposits her pack on the floor, not even paying attention to the contents of the room. She feels grimy and disgusting thanks to a week of fighting, camping, and not bathing. The inn has got to have a bath of some sort, even if it's going to be a pain in the ass to lug and heat up the water.

"I'm going to clean myself off," she says, gesturing to her body. Her long hair is knotted and she can _feel_ the dirt all over herself.

He nods his assent. "Go right ahead, love. I will after you're done."

-/-

When she walks back into the room, Hook is laying on the bed with his hands crossed behind his head and his ankles crossed. He looks up at her expectantly.

"Let me guess," Emma grimaces, wringing out her wet hair. "They only have one bed."

"A far cry better than the forest floor, love," he offers with a shrug.

"Yeah," she sighs, letting her pack slip to the floor. "Fair enough. I'm guessing you're claiming the bed tonight?"

Hook frowns, the cockiness deflating out of him immediately. "You aren't going to fight me for it?"

Emma's face wrinkles in confusion. "Why would I? I'll just sleep on the floor. It wouldn't be the first time. At least this time I won't have to deal with waking up with twigs in my hair."

He sits up, boots hitting the floor with a thud. "You should take the bed."

"What?" Emma asks, confused.

"It wouldn't be gentlemanly to commandeer it for myself. I can sleep on the floor. You, lass, can sleep on the bed."

"Now you're a gentleman?"

"I'm always a gentleman," he corrects with a cheeky grin, standing up to face her.

Emma rolls her eyes, predictably. "Okay, chivalrous knight."

He laughs at the suggestion before moving to leave.

"Do you want to grab a change of clothes, before you go?" Emma asks, gesturing to his current attire.

Killian's brow furrows. "Why would I? I hardly have enough room in my pack to lug around a wardrobe."

"The leather pants have to be kind of..." Emma begins a little lamely, unable to find the proper words to convey what she means without it sounding like something he can turn into an innuendo.

Not that it stops him.

"Constricting?" he offers, raising his eyebrows. "Not to worry about...my being constricted. It's not as if I haven't been sleeping in leathers these past few days."

She shrugs, conceding the point. "Still, it's nice to be comfortable instead of worrying about a twig digging into your back or the freezing cold or more people sent to kill us."

"We still have to worry about our potential murderers," he points out, gesturing to the window and - presumably - the loyal pack of guards that could follow them here. Even worse, the guards already stationed here could have gotten word of who they were if the innkeeper was particularly astute.

(They haven't commissioned illustrations of them, yet, but that's not to say they won't try their best sooner or later.)

"Still," she insists, unclasping her vest and pulling off her gloves, her loose flowing shirt and riding pants providing a good enough attempt at sleeping attire. "We both need sleep. Badly. And good sleep, not the half-awake sleep that we've been doing."

"You won't catch me discounting the merits of a good rest," he agrees, opening the door to the hallway of the inn as he moves to leave. "Go ahead and get some rest, love. I should be back within the hour."

Emma nods, slipping off her boots as she sits down on the bed.

-/-

Emma wakes up in the middle of the night on instinct, used to a restless sleeping pattern and trading shifts after days on the run. Her heart races in her chest, fearing oversleeping for a millisecond before she realizes where she is.

An inn. She's at an inn, where she can sleep as much as she wants without having to fear guards approaching outside. The door is locked and the window is deadbolted.

The only real noise she hears is the sound of deep breathing coming from below her.

Emma frowns, looking down at the floor where Killian is curled up so uncomfortably it looks painful. There is a quilt bunched around him and a pillow under his head, but still. Emma was elated at the thought of sleeping in a bed. It's hardly fair that she rob him of the same opportunity. She hears a rat screech somewhere and decides that enough is enough.

This is stupid. This whole thing is stupid. They're both adults, here. They can share a bed without making it weird.

"Hook," she mutters, voice muffled by her pillow. She scoots over to the far side of the bed, leaving plenty of room for a new occupant.

"Everything alright?" she hears an accented voice call, confirming her suspicions that he was faking sleep at best.

"Get in bed."

"Normally I wouldn't complain about a beautiful woman asking me to get into bed with her, but-"

Emma groans, wondering how much she's going to regret the sudden wave of kindness. "Stick to your side and we'll be fine. Just get off the floor."

He sits up. "Are you sure, Swan?"

She pats the space beside her. "You have your side. I have mine."

Killian grabs his pillow and blanket, setting them both on the unoccupied portion of the bed. He lies beside her cautiously, keeping a large gap between them. He's almost hanging off the side of the bed, but he evidently isn't taking any chances.

Emma just rolls her eyes. "What, are you afraid you're going to catch something from me?"

"Hardly, love," he says. "Just want to make sure I'm intact in the morning, is all."

She laughs.

-/-

He wasn't planning to wake up like this. There was absolutely no plotting involved in this at all, as much as Killian would adore claiming credit.

It's still dark outside the window when his eyes open to a bit of a tangle. Emma's nose is nestled in between his neck and shoulder. He can feel her steady breath fanning across his skin. Her arms are wrapped around his midsection and, well, his are far from guiltless.

(They're nowhere scandalous, mind you. One is draped over her hip and the other curled around her shoulders. Overly intimate, sure, but not scandalous. Even in his sleep, he appears to have some class.)

Killian briefly considers waking her up, maybe smirking at her and teasing her - something along the lines of _'Can't even get enough of the pirate in your sleep, hm, Swan?'_. She'd grumble something biting and shove him off the bed, where he'd spend the rest of the night gloating at the small victory of annoying the hell out of her.

(She murmurs something unintelligible in her sleep, sliding so that she's burrowing further, arms tightening ever so slightly around him.)

He can't bring himself to do it. Killian sighs, shifting further into her because she's comfortable and warm and she has to be the one who moved in her sleep, after all. Emma is the one muttering nonsense and shifting; Killian is so habituated to sleeping in a bunk only large enough to accommodate him that any such movement in his sleep would have led to him landing face down on his floor. He isn't much of a voyager in his sleep. Emma is. This entire situation is the fault of her, not him.

(She smells like soap and the citrus of the oranges he'd caught her eating earlier. He falls asleep with the lower half of his face pressed into the crown of her head. One arm is wrapped around her shoulders, his handless one pressed into the small of her back.)

-/-

When he wakes up again, he still feels Emma's breath on his neck. It's speeding up, her breathing less deep and slow. It's interesting that this is the little detail that wakes him up, not the getting entangled with her in the first place.

Emma stirs, just the slightest bit. Killian keeps his eyes firmly shut, not eager to receive the chastising he's sure to get.

"Oh," she murmurs when she wakes up, almost humming the word. "You're warm."

Not the reaction he was expecting, he has to admit. Killian cautiously opens one eye, then the other. "So I've been told."

(Has he been told this? Truthfully, he feels at loss for another reply that isn't _'As do you, isn't that amusing how that works out?'_ or _'We should do this more often'._ )

(The second option is even more disastrous than the first.)

Emma seems to blink into realization, then, sitting up and letting both of their arms fall from around each other. "I'm sorry," she says, the words fogged by sleep and barely audible.

"Why are you apologizing?" he asks, sitting up to look at her.

She rubs at her eyes in an attempt to get the remnants of slumber out of them. "I'm kind of a mover when I sleep. It's probably my fault."

He shakes his head, brushing a strand of her hair out of her face. "Nothing to worry about, love. There are far worse ways to wake up."

She laughs, the sound barely audible. "You make a valid point."

Killian stands up to tug on his shirt, cursing the sudden affectionate gesture. Sleep does things to one's senses, for sure. Emma is a beautiful woman, to be _additionally_ sure, but he can't afford to cavort with the Savior when -

He meets her eyes, for a brief moment, before she studiously averts her gaze from his torso. It seems she's having similar thoughts. It's natural, really. Spending a long time with someone, alone, in such conditions can yield situations with tension.

(Perfectly normal, he emphasizes internally.)

"So," Emma begins stiffly as she dresses. "We should check out that library."

"Aye," he replies quickly. "I suppose we should."

-/-

He tucks his coat and pirate's luck in his satchel, just in case, before they enter the library. Emma just prays to whatever higher powers that be that they haven't posted drawings of the two of them yet.

The brown-haired woman at the desk eyes the two of them curiously as they enter. "Hello, how can I help you?"

Emma clears her throat. "Um, is there any chance you have a book on magical objects? A magical object in particular, a box that can capture anyone inside of it?"

Killian shoots her a look that must say something along the lines of _'Fantastic job of being inconspicuous, Swan'_. Judging by the look on the woman's face, the unspoken criticism may be fair.

"That's an oddly specific request," the librarian's eyes narrow, flicking between the two of them.

Hook pastes on his most charming smile, leaning ever so slightly over the counter. Emma resists the urge to grab the back of his shirt and yank him back. The flirting routine won't get him far, she's sure. "We're just two avid researchers, eager to find the next great magical discovery."

The librarian is even less convinced by Killian's explanation.

Emma sighs, leaning back on the balls of her feet and putting her hands to her forehead. "Listen, lady."

"Belle," she introduces herself finally.

"Belle," Emma grits out, moving her hands to press them to her closed eyes. "It's very important that we get that book."

Before Belle can even open her mouth to reply, they hear footsteps outside the library.

"Damn it," Emma exclaims, seeing the familiar glimpse of guards. She tugs Killian with her behind a bookshelf, crouching so that the two of them can't be seen from the entrance of the library.

"What the bloody-"

Emma clasps her hand around Killian's mouth, shaking her head vehemently. He relents, pressing his back flat against the bookshelf and wrapping his arms around Emma's waist to prevent them from being seen from the sides. Emma lets out a sigh of relief that he seems to get the point and lets her hand slide down to his chest.

Their best bet at the moment is to avoid the guards as much as they can. They can't just fight them and move on. They have to stay here long enough to figure out where the hell this book is. And that means not getting involved in combat with an entire army. As effective in battle as the both of them are, there's a fine line between a fair fight and a suicide mission.

The door to the shop rings, signaling the entrance of three pairs of footsteps. Emma can hear the clanking of their armor.

"You seem flustered," a guard comments as soon as he strides through the door.

A sputtering sound comes from Belle. "Forgive me, I wasn't expecting a visit from the queen's men."

Belle must not intend for it to come out sarcastic if she has a bone of self-preservation in her body, but it does anyway. Emma is torn between respecting her for the sheer backbone it must take to say the words and cursing her for irritating men who take pleasure in punishing their aggravators.

One of the men chuckle humorlessly. "We hear that this place has been spreading propaganda against the queen. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Right now, Emma is leaning more towards respect. Killian looks thoughtful. She presses against him a little more when she hears footsteps get a closer to where they're hiding. He only smirks.

"I can't say I do," Belle answers defiantly.

"Well, with that attitude," another man clucks, voice low. "Forgive us if we have a hard time believing you."

"We'd rather be safe than sorry," the third chimes in. "You should have thought of that before you opened that smart mouth of yours, sweetheart."

They're going to kill her.

Emma and Killian exchange looks for a beat, reading each other, before both immediately drawing their swords and moving to face the intruders. Belle looks shocked to see them. The guards look as if they've seen ghosts.

"And you should have thought of that before you opened yours," Emma replies, a little late. Maybe the line would be a little more effective if she'd coordinated that better, but it's of no real consequence now. The man wastes no time in charging at her, but she's learned enough about how to deal with men coming at her with swords by now.

Emma has one of the men flat on his back in a second, taking advantage of the element of surprise. Killian takes care of one of them just as easily.

The third guard barely has time to get his sword out of his belt before Emma runs him through.

"Knew you wouldn't just hide," Killian laughs, shaking his head. "That would be decidedly unlike you."

"Yeah, well," Emma retorts. "Neither would you."

"Who _are_ you?" Belle interrupts from behind the desk, eyeing the two of them with a combination of awe and confusion.

"Depends," Hook retorts breezily, "How much do you talk, lass?"

"What he means to say," Emma corrects, sending a glare his way, "is that our identities could get us into a lot of trouble if they came out. We just need to get what we need and get out."

Belle just gets more flustered, pacing back and forth behind the desk. "Why should I entrust you with something so evidently important if I have no idea who you are?"

Emma hopes the guards were right about the librarian handing out anti-Regina propaganda. She really, really hopes they were right. Hell, even if they're not, the fact that they came for Belle in the first place must make the woman less than sympathetic if all of the Evil Queen's other sins haven't yet. "I'm the Savior. This, here, is -"

She turns to meet Hook's eyes, for a beat, looking for permission. He seems to grant it, albeit reluctantly. The look of dread on his face baffles her, for a minute, until she realizes the reason why.

"This is Killian Jones," she finishes. He looks at her in surprise - expecting her to introduce him as Captain Hook, she's sure - but accepts it with a small nod.

(A small, grateful nod, she could say.)

"The Savior?" Belle's eyebrows nearly raise to her forehead, her voice raising octaves right along with it. "I thought you were a myth."

"I thought the same thing until an old family friend and a couple of angry guards showed up at my door," Emma answers. "Believe me, I still have trouble believing it."

Belle turns to Killian, then, her confusion palpable. "And you are with her because...?"

Killian shrugs. "The queen is not an admirer of mine. I don't think she admires much of anyone aside from herself, but let's say it's best for my welfare to stick with the Savior. And hers, for that matter."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Careful, Killian. You might amaze her with the depth of your humility."

As always, he's unconcerned with accusations of narcissism.

Their back and forth isn't helping Belle make sense of the situation in the least. "So, you're the Savior and you're her bodyguard?"

"Absolutely not."

"Where the bloody hell did you get that idea?"

Belle holds her hands up in exasperation. "Fine, then, forget I asked. You asked about a volume on magical objects, yes?"

Emma nods. "If you have anything on the box specifically, that would be fantastic. It might be our only shot at defeating Regina."

"I think we may actually have the volume that may be able to help you out," Belle says, a thoughtful look on her face as her fingers trace the spines of the rows of books. "One moment…"

They wait one moment. And then they wait another before becoming a little concerned.

Belle frowns. "I swore it was here."

"Maybe she already got it," Emma wonders aloud, eyes meeting Hook's with a panic.

"You reckon Regina would catch onto her plans that quickly?"

"I don't know her enough to underestimate her."

"I do. I doubt she's that clever, especially if her guards have already been here," he motions to their bodies on the floor. "If they'd gotten their hands on the book, they'd hardly go marching after the librarian."

"I think know who the culprit is," Belle replies with a heavy sight. "I doubt he's affiliated with Regina in any way."

"Really?" Killian questions. "Who would want to steal a bloody book on magical objects from a library?"

Belle shrugs helplessly. "I don't think it was that book in particular, really. Will Scarlet broke into the library last night. I caught him and he just-" she motions with her hand towards the door, "grabbed a random book and fled. He's a bit of a jokester, Will. I don't think he meant any harm. I don't know why he broke in, but I think he may be the one who has it."

"He stole a book from a library," Emma says, eyebrows rising on her forehead. "That's a new one."

"I'll say," Killian replies. "Will Scarlet, you said his name was? We'll have to talk to him."

They turn around to leave before Belle stops them with a clearing of her throat.

"What will you do about," Belle motions to the bodies on the ground with a pained expression, "this."

Killian sighs heavily. "I guess I'm dragging corpses, this afternoon."

Emma grimaces.

-/-

It's a difficult task to hide bodies while a village is bustling, but they manage to drag them off to the forest without being recognized. It's a miraculous event, to be sure. By the time they're done and headed back to the village, he just looks at her thoughtfully. His silence seems to puzzle her, but Killian's mind is still a little stuck back in the library.

"Killian Jones?" he asks, a soft and amused grin on his lips, remembering how she chose to introduce him to the librarian.

Her expression furrows in confusion before she seems to realize what he's referring to.

"That's your name, isn't it?" she innocuously answers him with a question of her own. He can't help but notice the twinkle in her eye.

His expression turns more serious, then, as he considers the implications of her words. "Aye," he murmurs, "I suppose it is."

He's been just Hook for so long, it's a bit of an adjustment to be anything else. There were the few weeks he spent as a blacksmith, but those hardly counted. This, though, could count for something.

What that something is, he isn't quite sure of yet.

"So," Emma redirects, quickly. "Where would you find a drunken book thief in a village?"

"Where you find any drunk," Killian retorts, "a tavern."

-/-

Luckily, it hardly takes them any time at all to find one. It's the sort of tavern that he would find himself at during the height of his piracy, come to think of it. It's a bit dirty, definitely seedy, and the drinks here are refreshingly cheap. They settle in at the bar and Killian feels quite at home, really.

Emma sends him a look when he orders a generous amount of rum. "The Evil Queen wants us both dead and your suggestion is that we get drunk?"

The bartender sets the drinks in front of him just after Emma finishes speaking. Killian grins.

"It's a tavern, love, it'll be suspicious if we don't," he takes a heavy swig of rum as he says the words. He smacks his lips together as he swallows. Killian is beginning to vastly regret leaving his flask behind on his ship. His reasoning was that being in a permanent state of slight inebriation - the coping mechanism to help him pass the endless days in Neverland he's been unable to eliminate - would hardly bode well in running from the queen and disguising his identity.

(He's a bit loose tongued with a few drinks in him, he's told.)

(But, oh, how he's missed it.)

"You should, too," he suggests, sliding a glass towards her. "Have to fit in, after all. Rum is good for the worries."

She groans. "Is rum your solution to everything?"

"It certainly doesn't hurt," he claims.

Emma shakes her head in disapproval, accepting the drink reluctantly. She downs the entire thing in one go, causing Killian's eyebrows to nearly depart from the rest of his head.

"I have a high tolerance," she manages to get out, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

"See how you rival the pirate with two centuries of experience in drinking the most hardened sailors under the table," he challenges, holding up another glass.

Emma's eyes nearly bulge out of her head. "I'm sorry, did you say two hundred?"

"I'm a bit older than I look, love."

"By two hundred years," she repeats, dubiously.

"Ever heard of Neverland?"

"No," she answers, eyes narrowing.

"Good," he replies shortly, downing another gulp of rum.

Emma frowns. "You really want to have to deal with people trying to kill us when you're two glasses in?"

"Hasn't stopped me before."

She huffs, but chooses to divert the subject. "How are we supposed to find this guy, anyway? There are at least fifteen men in here who I'd say look stupid enough to steal from a library."

"We lure him in with two things men are unable to resist," Killian drawls out, a knowing smirk on his face. "A good bottle of rum and a beautiful woman."

She squints, trying to make sense of his words. "You're not suggesting..."

"Not like that, no," he amends quickly, "Just say a lass bought him a drink. The bartender just went into another room, now would be a good time to find whoever this Will Scarlet bloke is."

"For all you know, he could like men," she points out with a huff, depositing herself on the other side of the counter with a grunt. "Then you'll be wondering why we didn't just use you as the pretty face."

"Why, Swan, are you saying you think I'm pretty?"

Emma grits her teeth, heaving a sigh before she tries calling from behind the counter. "Will Scarlet! A very generous woman has just paid for your drink, wherever you are!"

A beat passes. She waits. Killian sweeps his gaze over the bar patrons, searching for a flash of recognition in any of them.

A burly man a few seats down from Killian chortles. Emma looks hopeful at the prospect until he opens his mouth. "As if anyone would buy a drink for Scarlet when he'd sooner steal it from them."

"Oi!" an accented voice blusters back at him, appearing over the man's shoulder looking unkempt and cantankerous. "As if you'd-"

"Will Scarlet?" Emma asks, leaning over to him with her hands on the bar.

"That'd be me," Will replies with a sheepish lift of his shoulders. "You mind telling me the name of the woman who was kind enough to buy me a drink?"

"Sure thing," she replies smoothly, briefly meeting Killian's eyes. "She said she'd meet you behind the tavern."

Killian is off as soon as she says the words, taking the hint easily.

"Really?" Will repeats dubiously. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes," Emma retorts with a groan. "Here, I'll even come with you. She's a little shy."

-/-

Will Scarlet follows her out of the tavern more than a little reluctantly. By the time they reach the destination, Killian is already sitting on a crate looking bored out of his mind.

"This is the lass that bought me a drink?" Will asks, voice going up a few octaves. He nearly makes his escape before Emma grips firmly at his sleeve.

"Believe you me, mate, I'm just as disappointed," Killian replies with a smirk. The humor of the situation is a bit of a source of amusement.

Emma ignores him. "We hear you stole a book on magical objects."

"I wasn't aware Belle hired such cutthroat security," Will deadpans.

"You broke into a library and stole a book," Emma drawls the words out to emphasize exactly how ridiculous they are, her eyes narrowed in pure disbelief. "You do know that books are free in a library, right? You really didn't need to break in."

"Yes, I did know that," Will says, defensively. "I did. I just had a bit too much to drink, is all."

"Mate, you stumble and say a few things you regret when you're buggered out of your mind," Killian points out, seeming more genuinely astonished than angry. "I know my way to the bottom of a rum barrel, Scarlet, and it's never gotten me to break into a bloody library."

"People react to rum differently," Will shrugs.

Emma isn't buying it, judging by the expression on her face. "Let me tell you something. I have this thing - a superpower, we'll call it - where I can tell if someone is lying to me. Right now? You are. I'm going to need for you to tell me the whole truth, Will."

"I needed a bit of liquid courage to work up my nerve to talk to a girl, alright?" Will's answer comes out in a rush, the words barely intelligible.

"A girl?" Emma's nose wrinkles in confusion. "In a library in the middle of the night? Honestly, who goes to-"

Her mouth forms an 'O' of realization.

Killian just shakes his head. "I get the distinct feeling that Belle is the type of lass that is more likely to be interested in sober men who don't break into her workplace, mate."

Will frowns. "I was hardly thinking clearly. I thought I was just going to leave a note, saying how I felt because I'm clearly too much of a coward to admit it sober. It was going to be a romantic gesture, believe it or not, but she walked in with a lantern and I panicked, grabbed the first book I could find."

"You really need to learn your way around women, mate," Killian groans, his hand coming to cover his eyes in a show of secondhand embarrassment. "Honestly."

Will huffs, looking between the two of them. "It looks as if I'm not the only one, _mate_. Who are you two, anyway?"

"I'm the Savior," Emma says firmly. "And I need that book if you want to see Regina defeated."

Killian opens his mouth to stop her from revealing any more, but she quickly raises her hand in front of him. "Relax. If this guy is so head over heels he's breaking into libraries to leave her love letters, I think he knows she's been circulating messages against the Evil Queen."

"The Savior is a myth," Will says disbelievingly.

"You can ask the girl you have a crush on about that," Emma retorts. "Right now, though, I need that book."

Will grimaces. Then, he digs into his satchel and pulls out the volume. "It's not like I can do a bloody thing with it, anyways."

"Thank you," she says, taking ahold of it. "Now, go apologize to Belle. Seriously. _Breaking into a library?_ "

He flushes, clearly and rightfully embarrassed, as he quickly walks away.

Killian and Emma just shake their heads. Emma hops up on a crate next to him, flipping open the book with some interest. She stops when she finds a short paragraph that details what they're looking for.

"Pandora's box?" Emma reads aloud, confusion blatant in her voice. _"Really?"_

"I thought the legend of Pandora's box was that it once contained all the horrors of the world," Killian frowns, finger tracing along the words. "Misery, fear, hate, all of those other lovely things."

"Well, that does sound like Regina," Emma says flatly. "I just wonder how the hell it went from a story about everything that's wrong with the world escaping to...some sort of trap."

Killian reads the text over once more. "I don't think that mystery is our greatest problem, Swan."

Emma's eyebrows furrow together as she rereads the short paragraph, leaning over further. Their shoulders brush with the motion. "Why?"

"Well, I'm assuming you were hoping to find some sort of clue to where it was," he says, pointedly gesturing to the unassuming description and hastily drawn sketch. "Unless you were hoping a summoning from the Savior would be enough, but I'm truthfully doubtful that will abet us."

"Damn it," she curses. "You're right. There's nothing here aside from the name of it. Other than that, it just says what we already know. The sketch looks like it has some sort of rune on it, but that just looks useless."

"A rune?" he asks in confusion, eyes flickering up to meet hers. "What do you mean?"

Emma gestures to the small, almost unnoticeable symbol on the illustration of the box. "That thing, it's like a weird A with a horseshoe, or something."

He thumbs at the drawing, trying to concentrate. The symbol is familiar enough, surprisingly. He's seen many different signs and symbols over the years, from the maps he's collected to the books he's poured over in Neverland in an attempt to distract himself from the banalities of living with a demonic teenager taking residence next to his ship. It's safe to say Killian knows every book on his ship to cover to cover, by now, but there's something different about this symbol.

It didn't come from a book, he doesn't think. It clicks for him an instant later.

Emma has seemingly given up on the volume, moving to close the book shut with a heavy sigh.

"Wait," he blocks her attempt to close the book with his hand, pressing it firmly down on her lap.

"What?" she asks, perplexed by the request.

"That symbol, I saw a woman with that tattoo," he explains quickly, tapping on it to accentuate his point. "Perhaps a descendant of the original owner?"

"Didn't you just tell me you were two hundred years old a few hours ago?" she wrinkles her nose as she says the words, seemingly still having difficulty wrapping her head around just how old he is.

"It was recent," he swears, eyes boring into hers. "A woman I helped escape, if I remember correctly. A collector of magical objects, I believe. That's what made her particularly difficult for her guards to capture - even I had a challenging time of it. I can place her face, just not her name. Now that I've told her to flee months ago, well..."

Killian trails off apologetically.

Emma narrows her eyes. "That's convenient, isn't it?"

He sighs. It'd be just like her to question his motivations, even after they've fought - quite literally - side by side. "Tell me love, what the bloody hell is convenient about having to track down a woman I deliberately told never to show her face again or else she'd die a slow, painful death?"

"The part where your memory suddenly clears," she sighs, studying the symbol herself with some reluctance. Emma bites her lip, eyes flickering up to meet his in a conciliatory gesture. "But, fine. You're right. You haven't given me any reason to doubt you yet."

"Yet," he repeats dubiously.

"Yet," she emphasizes, undeterred. "Notice how I say I'm not doubting you currently."

That's a lot, for her, he's surmised. Even when she wasn't fleeing from her life from the Queen, Emma hardly seemed like the most trusting sort. The narrowing of her eyes and clench in her jaw were evident since he dragged Geppetto into her mother's house - it comes as no surprise she'd be resisting the urge to resort to both when traveling with the Evil Queen's former, not quite assassin.

"Fair enough," he exhales.

Emma's lips upturn, at that. "So, do you have any idea of a starting point?"

"A few we could try," he frowns, tilting his head to the side as he contemplates the question. "I reckon she's had motivation enough to hide from me, so that makes things a bit challenging to say the least."

"So, what makes you think we'll be able to find someone you threatened into fleeing?"

"It was for her own good," he points out, grumbling. "Would you rather I killed her?"

"No," Emma says, shooting him a glare. It has the opposite of its intended effect, only making a grin creep up on his lips at the show of it.

"That's what I thought," he replies. "I told her to run where guards wouldn't be able to find her, yes. But I'm a bit more quick witted than the lot of them. If there's anyone who can track her down, it's me."

"Okay, then, wise tracker," she starts the sentence with a snort. "Please, inform me how where we're going to find this - unnamed - rune girl."

"I reckon she took my advice, which usually is to blend in with the others at another village. Fleeing in the forest is a bit suspect, see, but it's not as if the queen has a mind to observe the menial commonfolk unless they stir up trouble."

"So, what, we snoop around every village until we find the woman we're looking for who may or may not have a box that will trap Regina?" Emma asks skeptically.

"I'm impressed you managed to fit that all in one breath," he grins, standing up and shutting the book to shove it in his satchel.

"You didn't answer my question," Emma groans, scooting off the crate and turning around to face him.

"I didn't need to," he retorts, "I wonder what we'll call this little feat of ours. Village hopping? Village exploring? Village hunting?"

"I think if you say village one more time I'm sewing your mouth shut," she glares, unimpressed. He'd be more insulted if she didn't look like she was resisting the urge to smile.

"Oh, but all the things that I could do with this mouth of mine," he teases, running his tongue over his bottom lip in a way that's meant to be sensual.

(By the slight flush in her cheeks, it is.)

"Is flirting your default response to everything?" she questions, cocking her head to the side in mock-contemplation.

"I thought we'd already decided that was rum."

"As fun as this little back and forth is, if we want to find this box," she sighs, rubbing at her temples. "We should get going."

He does a little salute in response before beginning to walk away from the tavern and onto the next destination. She huffs as she follows him out.

The odds are high - incredibly so - that they don't have a chance in the Underworld of finding this woman, whoever she may be. The odds are even slimmer that she has the slightest idea of where Pandora's box may lie. But, still, it's something.

A bit of hope to cling onto, if nothing else.


	4. Escape

_**A/N: Hey! It's Wednesday, which means we're due for another chapter! Hopefully I can keep up this weekly, scheduled update thing. Even if I fall behind on writing a chapter a week for whatever reason, I'm currently writing chapter 7! So I'm working ahead a bit, here, which makes things a lot easier to manage. I really hope you guys like this chapter. Let me know if you do!**_

 _ **As always, many thanks to Amber, Ella, and Steph for their support and cheerleading and readthroughs on these chapters!**_

-/-

"So, what exactly is the plan here?" Emma asks as they walk into village number two. This one is a more little crowded, with people bustling about in the midday. She brushes shoulders with another woman, quickly apologizing before turning back to Killian for an an answer. A man bumps into her next, too hurried to even say sorry. Emma grimaces.

"We'll venture into a few shops, knock on a few doors," Killian explains, ambling next to her. Somehow, no one seems to be running into him. They're all granting him a wide berth, even without the pirate gear she knows he has hidden somewhere. Go figure. "This isn't a large village, we should be able to canvas it all in a day."

Emma frowns. "Won't you look a little suspicious, knocking on random doors? What happens if someone recognizes you? Even without the coat and the hook, you don't exactly look inconspicuous. You could get away with it in a shop, sure, but knocking on houses? What, are you going to request to see every woman in the village?"

Killian grimaces, looking down at his attire. Leather pants and a red vest hardly blend in. "Good point. Any suggestions?"

"Wow," Emma says, shaking her head in disbelief. "You really didn't think this through, huh?"

"Not in the slightest," he continues, sounding remarkably unbothered. "I'll just stick to shops, then. If I'm recognized, it's either because I saved their bloody life or they're a guard. And if they're a guard, I have my sword."

"And if there are very many guards who recognize you?" Emma follows up, sounding exasperated.

"Then I suppose I'll have you at my back, eh?" he answers quickly, motioning to her. "Wouldn't be the first time we would have to fend off Regina's men."

"Wouldn't be the last," Emma adds with a groan, eyeing where guards are stationed at the side of the street - two or three jovially laughing amongst themselves and about four of them staring straight ahead at the happenings around them. The men who look dead in the eyes and the men that soon will. "So, we poke our heads around for a few days here and then move onto the next?"

"Sounds about right," he says, nodding. "It's not as if we have much of a choice, do we?"

"Nope," Emma mutters, casting one last glance over to the guards as they walk past them. "I guess we don't. So, we spend the day canvassing and then find an inn to stay at?"

"Saw one just around the corner a little while ago. Think of it as testing out the various beds the kingdom has to offer," his voice lowers, sounding a little breathy. "Or, of course, just avoiding the perils of camping."

Emma rolls her eyes. Subtle, Killian is not. She'd be more offended if she didn't think that flirting was as nature for him as breathing.

"Two beds," she says, voice leaving no room for argument. "Okay? Unless you want to become my personal pillow again."

"I wasn't complaining," he replies, looking very much as if he's resisting the urge to grin.

Emma narrows her eyes. "Seriously?"

"You're quite fond of that word, aren't you?"

Her mouth sets into a hard line, making her look more annoyed than she really is. Or maybe not, if Killian keeps pushing it. "You know what I'm also _quite fond_ of? Two beds."

"As the lady commands," he bows exaggeratedly, nearly bumping into a passerby with the showy motion. It does not go unnoticed, if the glares around them are any indication. These people are really, really unfriendly.

Emma just grabs him by the arm and tugs him forward, threading her arm through his and smiling apologetically to the people nearby who shoot them questioning looks. "How the hell did you get by for this long without drawing attention to yourself?"

"No idea, love," he replies bluntly.

She only shakes her head.

-/-

The first place they stumble into is a quaint little jewelry shop, the sort that looks like it's an upgraded version of one of the many carts that litter the market outside. Even Killian - whose hand is adorned with clunky rings he's garnered over the years - finds the merchandise a tad gaudy. False gemstones the size of his fist on a chain are perhaps something he's never acquired the taste for. Killian, for all his age, has yet to go blind quite yet.

But this won't need to be sincere, anyway.

Killian wraps an arm around Emma, pulling her in closer to him with a broad grin as soon as the shopkeeper spots them coming through the door. "My lady and I are looking for a jewel to befit her beautiful finger. Been traveling from village to village to find the perfect one, see."

Emma masks her confusion in a second, wrapping her arm around his waist with a stiff smile. "Yep. That's us. Star crossed lovers, and all that."

"Star crossed?" the shopkeeper asks, looking concerned. "What bad luck has befallen the two of you?"

Emma frowns, unsure of what he means. Killian quickly rectifies her statement. "Ah, but her parents don't approve," he clucks, shaking his head with a heavy sigh and a dramatically sullen expression. "Makes things a bit difficult, see."

Emma nearly rolls her eyes at the explanation, Killian notices, but she manages to catch herself just in time by masking the upward look as an adoring gaze at her apparent lover. Killian winks in her direction. She just offers him a tight smile, pinching at his side where the shopkeeper can't see. "They keep on talking about his troubled past, but I have to tell them that underneath all that he has a heart of gold."

The troubled past line seems to be a bit too accurate, he thinks.

"And she's not nearly as prickly as she seems," he adds with a grin, looking down at her with admiring eyes. Laying it on thick, he's sure, but a necessary evil.

(Not that it's entirely evil, truthfully.)

"You two kids getting married?" the shopkeeper asks, eyeing the two of them with some curiosity.

Killian nods. "Aye, that's the plan," he points to an emerald ring glimmering in the display, one that looks the least offensive out of everything in the shop. "How about that one, love?"

Emma nods her approval as the shopkeeper takes it out. She carefully slides the ring on her finger, modeling it with her hand splaying towards Killian. She looks to him, briefly, for approval.

"Perfect fit," Killian grins, meeting her eyes with a disarming softness.

Emma breaks her gaze, quickly clearing her throat. "It's really pretty."

"Matches your eyes," Killian adds, playing the role of lovestruck fiance perfectly.

Emma plays the role quite well herself, casting her eyes to him with a tender expression. He holds it, for a moment, making an effort into seeming as enraptured with her as possible for their audience. She does the same, placing her ringed hand on his lapel as she grins up at him. He notes, with some alarm, that they're rapidly leaning towards one another.

Emma snaps out of her trance. She cuts to the chase, pouting exaggeratedly as she stares at the stone on her finger. "I just _wish_ there were another woman I could ask for advice, on this. Killian has great taste in jewelry, sure, but sometimes you just need the feedback of another woman."

Killian nods solemnly. "Ah, she's been like this ever since she ran away from home so we could elope. She misses her sister, see."

Emma clucks. "I left behind a hell of a lot for you, remember that."

"Believe me," he mutters. "I do. Look at the price on this bauble. I'll do whatever makes you happy, love, but if you really need another woman's opinion for me to drop gold on it…"

The suggestion isn't lost on the shopkeeper, thankfully. They were far from subtle. "I wish I had a wife or daughters to offer their advice, sweetheart, but I'm afraid it's just me."

A flash of guilt crosses Emma's face as she frowns. Killian, too, feels a little pang of sympathy. That, at least, answered the question.

Emma carefully slides the ring off her finger with an apologetic smile. "We can talk about it tonight."

"Aye," Killian nods, sending a nod of gratitude to the shopkeeper. "Thanks for letting us look around, mate."

"Anytime," the man replies.

The two of them try their best to not look rushed as they leave.

"What was that all about?" Emma hisses as soon as they're out of the shop.

"You said to blend in," he shrugs, quickly rescinding his arm from around her waist. "I blended."

"Advanced warning would be nice!"

"It was a last minute decision!" he defends himself, their voices in harsh whispers as to not attract any eavesdroppers. "But since you requested it, how about we do the same in every other shop we can find, yes?"

"I don't think the butcher will care about our love life," Emma says derisively, crossing her arms.

"Maybe he's a romantic at heart," Killian protests, his hands out in a pleading gesture. "Face it, Swan, if the two of us are nauseating enough the man will be too preoccupied drying his tears to be remotely suspicious. Two young fools in love is a disarming persona."

"Young?" Emma repeats, eyebrows raising. "Didn't you just tell me you were two hundred?"

He waves his hand as if to sweep away the doubt in her voice. "And we're neither fools nor in love."

She purses her lips together, but doesn't offer another reply.

Killian holds out his arm for her to take. "So, Swan, onto the next?"

Emma loops her arm through the crook of his elbow, only grumbling a little.

-/-

It's after he's convinced the butcher and his daughters, of all people, to ' _ooh_ ' and ' _aah_ ' along with a very dramatic story involving Emma saving him from ogres a few years ago (if there's one positive thing Emma can say about Regina, it's that the ogres were finally taken care of - the last one died a year ago) that Emma decides to call it quits. Killian lavishes the tale with as much detail and suspense as possible, practically fluttering his eyelashes as he describes Emma telling him how she'd always find him when they were separated because of her parents' expectations.

(Speaking of her parents, he is definitely stealing parts of their story. Killian must have eavesdropped in her conversations with Lancelot and Guinevere, after all.)

The worst part of it is is that they buy it. If she didn't know any better, she saw the burly butcher tear up as Killian described spending months parted from her until being miraculously reunited in a goddamn meadow.

(And, of course, none of his five daughters nor the female patrons that crowd around to hear the epic, grand, entirely fictional love story are the woman they're looking for.)

"We should part ways," Emma says, meeting his eyes as they leave the shop. His face falls slightly, but she quickly continues her statement. "Just so I can get a room at the inn while you move on, I don't want us to get stuck with only one room because we waited too long."

"Fair enough, lass," he replies easily, pressing a kiss into her hair.

She gives him a confused look at the gesture. "What was that-"

"The butcher," Killian mutters, moving his mouth down to her ear. "He's staring through the window. Have to keep up appearances, see."

She nods, moving her hand up to rest on his shoulder, staring up at him in a way that's meant to look adoring from an outside point of view. "I see. Meet me at the tavern attached to the inn in a little while, then?"

"Meet you there," he nods, moving away to the next destination.

Emma adjusts the strap of her bag on her shoulder, moving in the direction of the inn until she hears a scream from behind her. She whips her head around, flitting her eyes over the carts in the market before finding the source of the conflict.

A girl - looking as if she's only in her late teens or early twenties - with an apple in her hand stands in fear before a guard who does not look happy.

"You know what happens to thieves?" the guard goads, drawing his sword and grabbing her by the wrist to lay her hand out on a nearby table. Her hand drops the apple and it tumbles to the ground. The girl quakes in fear, eyes never leaving the sword. "Hm?"

"I'm so sorry," the girl rushes out, tears building in her eyes. "It'll never happen again. I swear. I'm just so hungry and -"

The guard tuts. "Wrong answer. Thieves get things taken from them. It's payback, see, for what you've done. I think I'll take your hand. It sounds fair to me."

She starts genuinely crying, then, and Emma watches with horror. She was that girl once, even younger. Emma was stealing just to get by and barely managing to evade the wrath of guards. If it wasn't for Ingrid, she'd have lost a hand and more.

(The thought makes her wonder how Killian lost his. The guards are fond of this line in particular and he is a pirate, after all.)

The guard lifts the sword up as the girl cringes, desperately trying to escape his grasp. Emma knocks over a nearby display - showy and fake gold earrings - and the guard's attentions are momentarily diverted. She takes the opportunity to duck behind another display. The girl makes a smart move and takes the chance to run. And just like that, she's gone. Emma breathes a sigh of relief.

The guard is still dumbly searching for the culprit, asking clueless merchants what just happened. Emma takes the opportunity to run away herself.

She keeps her head down on the rest of the way to the inn.

-/-

Luckily, she manages to procure two keys to two separate rooms, the innkeeper not even sparing her a second glance before they take drink orders for the next patron.

When Killian comes in a few hours later, looking frustrated, she just tosses him the key to his room. He catches it just in time.

"Any luck?" she asks.

"Unfortunately," he grunts, setting his bag down beside her at the table she's been sitting at. "No. I peered around every shop in town, but, alas, no luck in finding a familiar face."

"Maybe we can try again tomorrow," Emma sighs, nursing her water. "And then if we don't find anything, we can just go onto the next."

"How many villages are in this damn kingdom, anyways?" Killian asks with a groan, rubbing at his forehead as he slumps down next to her. "Honestly, we could search for years."

"Oh, poor you," Emma laughs a little, shoving him slightly with her shoulder. "It's been one day. Did you really expect to find them that quickly?"

"I suppose not," he says, meeting her grin with a soft one of his own. "Still, it's a bit frustrating to think of how long this trek could extend."

"How will you survive with a blonde pain in the ass for company?" Emma mockingly pouts, rolling her eyes. "Trust me, we'll be fine."

"I thought I was the pain in the arse," he ponders aloud, stroking his beard as if he's trying to be thoughtful about this.

"I won't argue with you," Emma teases lightly, not sounding as if she means malice in the slightest. "Speaking of arguing, you'll never guess what I did this morning. This guard was trying to-"

Emma stops mid-sentence, her eyes suddenly finding the same girl from earlier at the tavern. The girl's short black hair hangs in her face and her cloak is drawn over her head, but there's no mistaking her. Her timing must be impeccable.

"Damn," Emma curses aloud.

Killian's brow furrows in confusion, turning his head to look in the same direction she is. He follows her gaze to where the girl sits alone, hunched by a table in the corner. "What?"

"The girl," Emma murmurs, turning to face him. "A guard almost cut her hand off today. She stole an apple or something, but she looks like she's about to faint if she doesn't eat. I managed to distract him long enough for her to get away."

He grimaces. "And drew attention to yourself in the process? Emma, we have to stay here for at least another day. We can't afford to leave."

"You would have done the same," she reminds him. "You're the man who is on the run in the first place because you couldn't stomach seeing innocent people harmed by Regina, remember?"

Killian purses his lips, holding up his prosthetic. "Perhaps I would have been sympathetic to the loss of a hand."

The girl looks around the room, then, catching Killian and Emma's stares. She freezes like a deer in the headlights, tensing up under the attention.

"You," Emma exclaims quickly, rushing to the chair opposite of the girl in spite of her best judgement. "I recognized you from the market earlier."

"Look, I don't want any trouble," the girl says quickly, holding her hands up in a defensive gesture.

Emma shakes her head, keeping her voice hushed in an attempt to not draw attention to the two of them. "No, no, we're not..."

Killian sighs from behind her, moving to sit next to her. "What my companion here means to say is that she wants to help you."

Emma meets his eyes, confused. "I didn't say-"

"I don't need your help," the girl claims, her brown eyes nearly bulging out of her head.

"Yes," he corrects Emma with a knowing quirk of his lips before directing his gaze to the girl across from them. "You did. And you do, lass. We're buying you a meal."

His tone leaves no room for argument and the girl's steely defiance melts into something like gratefulness. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Emma asks.

"For," she frowns, then buries her face into her hands. "Bothering you."

"I'm fairly sure it was the other way around, lass," Killian replies, not unkindly. "What's your name?"

"Rapunzel," she answers, looking up. "My name is Rapunzel."

"I'm Emma," she introduces herself, then gestures to him. "This is Killian. We're..."

Killian finishes her words while she flounders for an answer. "Travelers. We have a bit of an adventurous spirit in us, we do."

"Yep," Emma adds.

"So you two are..." Rapunzel trails off, unsure of how to finish her sentence.

"Married."

"Siblings."

Emma looks horrified at their very different answers. "I swear we aren't married siblings."

"It's a running joke we do," Killian adds, quickly and uncomfortably. "Ah, that's why we travel. Comedy act. It's not a very successful one, perhaps because of jokes like that."

Rapunzel narrows her eyes. "You two are really bad liars. But it's none of my business."

They both breathe a sigh of relief.

"What happened?" Emma asks, concern in her voice as she tries to figure out what could have gotten Rapunzel to this point. She can't have been on her own for too long, Emma thinks. If she had, she doubts Rapunzel would be wearing a dress befit for royalty - as ragged as it is - or seem so helplessly lost. Something had to have changed for her recently to cause this.

"I," the girl hesitates, cringing. "I can't say."

"Nonsense," Killian replies with a sort of earnestness Emma raises her eyebrows at. This is more Killian the Blacksmith than Captain Hook the Pirate, she notes. "We aren't the judgmental type, nor are we big talkers."

Emma shoots him a dubious look.

"We aren't big talkers when it comes to secrets of consequence," he corrects with a heavy sigh.

Rapunzel bites her lip. "I'm already in enough trouble as it is."

"Then let us help you get out of it," Emma offers, eyes pleading as she props her elbows on the table.

Rapunzel still looks conflicted. Killian frowns before moving to the counter of the tavern, presumably to buy the girl a meal.

Emma thinks, for a minute, considering what to say next. It's weird that she wants to help the girl this much, a girl she has absolutely zero obligation to. Emma already saved her neck (well, hand) hours ago. What happens to this girl is none of her concern. She already has enough to worry about saving her own life.

But Ingrid had enough to worry about when she decided to help Emma and, hell, it wouldn't hurt her to repay that favor in some way.

"Have you heard of the Savior?" Emma presses, keeping her voice as hushed as she can while still being audible.

"No," Rapunzel replies frankly.

Huh. She must be one of the only people in the kingdom who hasn't. Emma gapes, taken aback. "The Savior...according to legend, the Savior is the person meant to defeat the Evil Queen once and for all and save the people from her persecution," she pauses, snorting with derision at the explanation and shaking her head. "Believe me, I know how stupid that sounds...someone fated to stop Regina or whatever."

Rapunzel flinches at the mention of Regina. Emma notices.

"The queen," Emma says, softly. "She did something to you."

"She locked me in a tower," Rapunzel explains, staring into the wood of the table. "Said it was for my own good, that I was lucky she was being merciful. I-"

Right then, Killian deposits a bowl of stew in front of her. He looks pleased with himself until Emma groans.

"What?" he asks, perplexed by her reaction.

"Thank you," Rapunzel says, looking to the two of them. "Both of you."

"Rapunzel, here," Emma explains lowly, leaning into Killian's ear with a whisper as he sits down, "was explaining to me how Regina locked her in a tower."

His eyebrows raise. "Ah. I see," he turns to Rapunzel. "We aren't big fans of her, ourselves. The Savior and I have been on the run for over a week now. We're looking for a way to defeat her."

"The Savior?" Rapunzel repeats, baffled. "The person fated to defeat Regina?"

"Aye," Killian replies, bumping his shoulder with Emma's and grinning. "Emma's the one."

Emma resists the urge to hide under the table in embarrassment.

Rapunzel looks to Emma, then. "You're the Savior."

She grimaces. "Like I said, it sounds stupid. Why did Regina lock you up?"

"My parents are the king and queen of another kingdom," she explains, tucking a lock of her short hair behind her ears. "They went to visit here when I was around ten or eleven to meet with the queen. Something about trade, she said. They said something she didn't like, so she locked me in a tower. I was stuck there ever since, without a hope of getting out with the guards stationed there."

"But you did," Emma says gently.

"I knocked a guard out with a frying pan, of all things," she laughs a little at the absurdity of it. "I cut my hair off and I ran away to the nearest village. It's been a week and I still have no idea what I'm doing. I'm not much of an adapter, I guess."

"We can help you," Emma tells her sincerely. "If you want help, we can help you."

Rapunzel bites her lip. She inhales deeply before replying. "I think I need help."

-/-

Killian has a fair amount of experience when it comes to helping someone flee. It's currently biting him in the arse, given that he's now unable to find the person they need now more than ever and it's the reason why his neck is at risk in the first place. But with the young princess, perhaps it can become a useful asset. So, he nods along with Emma's offer to help the girl.

"So, what do you need our help with first and foremost?" Emma asks, cutting straight to the point.

"I..." Rapunzel hesitates. "I don't even know where to _start._ "

"Well," Killian replies, fishing the key Emma gave him out of his pocket. "First thing is first: you're going to need a place to sleep tonight. Where have you been sleeping?"

A look of shame crosses Rapunzel's face. The streets, it was.

"Ah," he says, nonjudgmentally. It's not as if he comes from a place where he can pass judgement, given his own rough upbringing and the sheer effort it took to stay alive. Killian presses the room key into her hand. "I understand. You're going to sleep in a warm bed, take a warm bath, and get a good night's rest tonight. We can help you with the rest in the morning."

Rapunzel can only gape at him, overwhelmed by the gesture.

Killian looks over to Emma, who just seems contemplative. "You alright with sharing a room with me again, Swan?"

Emma nods. "Of course. I was about to suggest the same."

"Just don't hog the bed, this time," he teases. Emma only rolls her eyes.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Rapunzel asks the two of them, looking as if she's trying to solve a particularly difficult riddle. "You have no reason to be. Emma, you already saved my hand back there. Why go through all this effort?"

Emma gives Rapunzel a soft smile, setting her hand on her shoulder. "Because people helped us. It's only fair we repay the favor."

Killian can't find much fault with that answer. "Aye. It's the right thing to do, after all."

Rapunzel still looks baffled and toys with the key in her hand, staring at it as if it's an object she's never seen before. "Thank you," she stutters out, looking between the two of them. "I don't know how I can..."

"Don't worry about it," Emma says firmly, meeting her eyes with a hard stare that illustrates just how serious she is about this. "Seriously, don't worry about it. Just get some rest and we'll talk in the morning, alright?"

"Alright," Rapunzel answers shakily, pursing her lips together. "Alright," she repeats again, this time more to herself.

The two of them stare after her as she goes up the stairs.

Killian clears his throat once she's out of sight, turning to Emma. "So, lass, can I interest you in a nightcap?"

"I was waiting for you to bring up rum," Emma replies, lips twitching. "Let's not blow all our gold on drinks, alright?"

He pulls a flask out of his belt, at that, waving it in front of her. "Good thing I have this, then."

Emma raises her eyebrows, moving to grab it before he holds it above her head and out of her grasp.

"Let's not be greedy, here, Swan," he tuts, grinning as she lets her hand fall to her side instead of attempting to swat at it.

"Says the guy who stole it," she retorts.

"Pirate, love," he reminds her, lowering his arm to bring it to his lips. He's barely able to stop smiling enough so that he can drink from it. "The vendor who was selling it was a right prick, too. Sold it way over priced. I was doing him a favor, truly, getting it off his hands."

"I hope it's been used by someone with disgusting hygiene," Emma grumbles. "It would serve you right. Where did you get the rum to fill it up with, anyway?"

"The innkeeper isn't particularly attentive," he remarks passively, corking the flask with his mouth. "Doubt he'll miss a few cups of rum."

She narrows her eyes, crossing her arms. "I thought we were staying inconspicuous."

"I _inconspicuously_ stole it."

By the way her fists clench, Killian can tell she's very much resisting the urge to punch him in the face. Killian quickly tucks the flask back in his pants, not willing to risk bodily harm quite yet. "I'll take that as a no to a nightcap, then?"

She nods, tossing him the key to their room. "Smart move."

"And, just to reiterate, if you have any interest in cuddling-"

"I am not above shoving you down the stairs. Just so you know."

He grins, shaking his head.

-/-

They stick to their sides of the bed, miraculously, that night.

Killian is a ridiculously early riser, as it turns out, and he wakes up before the light of day. Unfortunately, that means he nudges her awake, too.

He sets his hand on her shoulder, shaking her slightly to wake her up. Emma groans, burying her face further in the pillow rather than relenting to consciousness. "Go away," she mutters, voice muffled.

"It's morning," he tells her, voice thick with sleep as he leans on his elbow beside her. His eyes dance with amusement at her reluctance to wake up. Killian sighs exaggeratedly when she ignores him, snatching the quilt that's draped over her with a challenging grin.

Emma whines, curling herself into a ball for warmth. He chuckles at that, until she presses her freezing feet against his. Killian winces.

"No, it's not," she contests, moving her face from the pillow to stick her head up, her hair mussed. "It's not even light outside. You at least sleep until dawn."

"Not on a ship," he replies.

"Yeah, well," Emma mumbles, her head leaning back to the pillow. "We're not on a ship. We're in an inn, on land, where we have to share a bed. I am not above knocking you out myself if that means I get to sleep. Now, give me my blanket back and go the fuck back to sleep."

He raises his eyebrows at her show of language.

"I'm tired," she offers in explanation, her eyes firmly shut. Emma shivers, just for added effect.

Killian relents, draping the quilt back over her with an over-dramatic groan. "As you wish, love."

-/-

They meet Rapunzel in the morning - the _actual_ morning as Emma insists - buying her breakfast and sitting down opposite her at the same booth they were at yesterday. She looks refreshed, thankfully, the night of real sleep, a bath, and food doing wonders for her previously bedraggled appearance. Her mood, though, doesn't seem much improved.

"So," Emma begins, digging into the eggs in front of her. She's still bleary eyed, though Killian swears he waited until it was light outside to wake her. Emma is plenty of things, but she is not a morning person. "We promised we'd help you. What do you need help with?"

Rapunzel slumps, her elbow on the table barely keeping her head propped up. "I just want to see my family again."

Emma and Killian exchange looks, his arm draped behind her on her chair. Killian speaks up. "Perhaps we could help you with that. What kingdom did you say your family was from, again?"

"Corona," she answers hesitantly. Rapunzel still seems cautious to trust them entirely, which is perhaps fair given her predicament. Still, she must acknowledge that she doesn't have many other options. "I'm from Corona. My family should still be ruling, but they couldn't...it'd be suicide to come after me. They didn't even know where to start."

Killian digs into his satchel and presents her with a map to her kingdom - if there's anything he has, it's a collection of handdrawn maps - with a flourish. "First of all, I apologize for any ports of your family's I may or may not have robb-"

Emma glares at him pointedly.

He clears his throat, waving the map in front of Rapunzel before setting it down in front of her. "This should take you to your destination."

Rapunzel's eyes widen at the sight, taking a hold of the map delicately. "Is this..."

Killian curses, then, looking around for something to draw with. He stands, walking to stand behind a nearby man, plucking a quill next to him with a _'Sorry, mate'_. Luckily, the quill has enough ink on it already so that he can draw a path from their current spot to her kingdom. "Should clarify that, a bit."

The man who is now missing a quill grumbles for a second, but seems to accept it.

"The edge of Regina's kingdom is only a half a day's walk from here," Emma adds helpfully. "We can walk with you to there, just to make sure no guards or anything like that follow you. Once you cross that line, you should be home free."

Rapunzel's expression furrows. "I thought the queen had magical barriers in place to make sure people couldn't leave?"

Killian waves the concern aside. "I know the weak spots, lass. She's not nearly as powerful as she likes to think she is. We can help you get there."

Rapunzel looks as if she's blinking back tears, overwhelmed by their show of kindness. "But what about your quest?"

Emma turns to face Killian, meeting his eyes for a beat before shrugging. "We can afford to be set back a half a day. We don't exactly have a time limit."

"Aye," he agrees with a nod. "We'd be more than happy to assist you to get home."

-/-

Thankfully, they don't run into any of Regina's knights on the way there. It seems their earlier traps and diversions worked in at least getting them off of their back. Emma would love to claim credit for that herself, but maybe Killian's false camps weren't the worst idea in the world.

He prevents Emma from nearly tripping over a twig once they're only minutes away from the border, holding her firmly in place with a grin.

(Maybe he isn't the worst company in the world, either.)

They stop when they reach the spot marked on the map, conveniently landmarked by a particularly large tree.

"Here we are," Killian proclaims, motioning ahead. "Your path home, lass."

Rapunzel gives them both a grateful smile as she accepts the map from him. "I don't know what I wouldn't done without your help."

Emma shakes her head to emphasize how small of a task this was. If this is all it took to help a girl get home, it was nothing. "Don't worry about it," she insists.

Rapunzel's eyes shine, darting between the two of them. She sways a little bit as she stands in front of them, nervousness clear in her posture. "So, you two are going to have to deal with Regina more, right?"

"It looks like it," Emma answers wryly, tucking her hands into the pockets of her pants. "We just have to keep trudging on."

"She doesn't have a shot against the Savior," Killian adds with a wide grin, sending her a proud look.

"That might be a bit of a stretch…"

"Come with me," Rapunzel insists suddenly, gesturing to the two of them. "My family, they will be very grateful to the both of you. I haven't seen them in years, but I remember enough to know that they are good, kind-hearted people. Just like you two are. You don't have to run from Regina here forever. You could come with me to my kingdom."

Emma smiles sadly, shaking her head. A part of her wants to accept her offer, wants to run off to another kingdom where Regina will have a harder time following her. But another part of her - the part that has reluctantly taken the mantle that was thrust upon her as the Savior - knows she has a responsibility. Emma can't just run off. She has a responsibility to her kingdom, to her people, to Killian.

Killian.

She blinks in realization. Emma has a responsibility. Killian doesn't, aside from just staying alive. Going with Rapunzel would be his best bet.

"If you wanted to," Emma turns around to face him, ignoring the way her heart pangs as she does so. "You could go with her. You could go to her kingdom and not have to worry about Regina anymore."

Killian gapes at her, for a moment. "And if I did? What would you do?"

The words are cautious and questioning, similar to the way his eyes trace over her face for any hint of hesitation. Emma masks her face as well as she can, painting on a smile she doesn't feel. "Me? I'll be fine. I can carry out the rest of this quest on my own. Match the rune to the person, right? Can't be that hard."

She's lying through her teeth, but he doesn't deserve to be dragged into any more of this.

"Is that what you want?" he questions, a muscle in his cheek quivering as he says the words. He's holding something back, possibly how much he'd rather just flee to the next land than further this pointless, endless attempt to defeat an all-powerful enchantress.

Emma falters a little at the question. She does her best to return to a casual, lackadaisical stance. Emma only shrugs. "Whatever you wanna do, Hook. It's up to you."

"And what do you want?" he presses, again, swaying into her space with a sigh of hesitation.

Emma shakes her head, her hair swinging back and forth with the motion. "That doesn't matter. Just tell me if you want to leave, alright?"

"And if I did?" he says as soon as she finishes her question, his words rushed and heated. "If I said I wanted to leave and left you alone in this. You'd be quite alright with that?"

It wouldn't be the first time she'd been left alone. He wouldn't be the last, either. "Yes. If that's what you wanted."

There's a moment of silence between the two of them, and the sound of her blood pumping pounds in her ears. She dreads his answer the longer he takes to reply.

"I'm not leaving you," he says, voice unyielding. Killian stands in front of her, eyeing her with some carefulness, but not touching her. The gap between them is suffocating and Emma almost wishes they'd just bridge it. "I don't want to leave you, Emma."

"Killian," she murmurs his name in an exhale, breaking her gaze from him because it's too much, it's _way_ too much and he should be able to leave if he wants to. "You shouldn't feel obligated-"

"I'm here because I want to be," he reminds her firmly, expression showing no sign of hesitation. "Emma…"

She looks back at him, again, unable to help it. He sets his hand on her shoulder, seemingly unable to help himself either. Emma just blinks back at him as he rubs circles over the top of her arm with his thumb. "Why, Killian?"

Emma sounds defeated and she doesn't even understand why.

He clears his throat. "I found you in those woods because I wanted to save my own skin, I'll admit. I thought you would be the way to do so. Since then, I've only managed to get myself nearly killed so many times I can't even count them on my hand."

She frowns, wondering why he's even bothering saying all of this. These are reasons why he should leave, reasons why he should have left a long time ago. They're not reasons for him to stay.

"I'm still here because we're in this together, now," he says. "And I refuse to abandon you when there's much work to be done."

"Are you sure?" she asks, voice quiet and wavering.

Killian just grins at her, then. "Quite positive, love."

Rapunzel clears her throat. The two of them quickly whip around to face her, Killian's hand slipping from her shoulder.

"Sorry, I-" Emma begins, but Rapunzel only shakes her head with a small smile.

"It's fine. I just thought I'd offer. There's no way I could repay you for what you've done…"

Emma smiles back at the girl. "It was nothing, honestly."

"No," Rapunzel challenges. "You risked your safety to help me when you would've gained nothing from it. That's everything."

Before Emma can even muster a reply, the girl has her enveloped in a hug. She laughs, a little, at how tightly she squeezes her midsection. Emma just pats the girl on the pack and sways a little. "Stay safe out there, alright?"

Rapunzel nods her assent when she withdraws herself from Emma, adjusting the strap of the bag on her shoulder.

"You have everything you need for your journey?" Killian asks, coming up to stand behind Emma. "Food, a water canteen, blankets…"

"We've forgotten blankets before," Emma chimes in, running her hands up and down her arms. "It wasn't fun."

Rapunzel just chuckles at the two of them. "Yeah, I should have everything. I wish you both the best of luck on your quest."

"And we on yours," Killian replies fondly. "Safe travels, lass."

The two of them watch her go long, standing side by side, until she's only a dot in their vision.

Emma lets out a long breath, turning to face Killian. "So, where to next?"

"I swear I've seen the face of every woman in that village," Killian sighs, looking up to the sky. "I reckon it's on to the next for us, then."

"Which is…" Emma trails off, looking to him for guidance.

Killian pulls out another map with a wry grin. "And to think you said you could last without me."

"Forgive me for trying to be polite," Emma grumbles, poking him in the arm. "You wouldn't last without me, either."

He just smirks, at that. "Wouldn't I?"

"I'll remember that next time one of Regina's knights comes at you from behind with a sword," Emma replies with a scoff.

"Alas," Killian sighs dramatically, setting his hook to his heart. "A revelation of my true reasons for staying. Protection from being run through with a sword. Pity that I can't just hire you as my own personal guard."

"Belle thought you were _my_ bodyguard," Emma reminds him as they start walking to their next destination. "Not the other way around. You should remember that."

"How could I forget," he groans, his irritation insincere.

"Admit it, Hook," Emma says with a smirk, bumping her shoulder with his as they walk. "Maybe you would just miss having me around."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Perhaps I would.


	5. Bound

_**A/N: Hey! I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter, it was super fun to write! I've been so overwhelmed by the response to this fic I just really want to thank all of you guys for your constant, amazing feedback. It really motivates me to keep writing.**_

-/-

"Two beds," Emma exhales in relief, slumping down on one of them. They're onto the next village, but this one seems to have a nicer inn than most. "One room, but two beds."

"Aye," Killian nods, setting his satchel on the other one with a knowing grin. "I look forward to not having quilts ruthlessly robbed from me in my sleep. And _I'm_ the pirate."

Emma rolls her eyes, letting her head hit the pillow. "I shared, plenty, as I remember."

She hears the thunk of his boots on the floor as he sits down on the other bed and the resounding thud in the room when he toes them off. He sighs and Emma lets her eyes fall shut.

"You are not prone to sharing, Swan, sorry to tell you. I've woken up with a chill in the room many times."

"We've shared a bed _twice._ The first time I know I shared. So, if you've woken up cold, it's only been once," she mutters, hand coming to rub her forehead in exasperation. "Drama queen."

He gasps in mock offense. She can practically picture the outraged gesture of his hand on his chest. "Oi, love, you sure know how to wound a man's heart. Forgive me if I still haven't warmed up from the cold you so ruthlessly left me in."

Emma blindly throws a pillow in his direction, eyes still closed. "Go to sleep."

Killian goes silent for a few moments and she assumes (hopes) that he has followed her orders.

"I'll be sure to guard the quilts vigilantly, just in case."

She throws another pillow.

-/-

The next day, it's back to visiting shops. The simple pleasure of shopping (though he didn't often _pay_ for things before) may be robbed from Killian forever, after this experience. But then again, it's another call for him to pretend to whisper sweet nothings into the Savior's ear, so -

It's not the worst task in all the world.

"How long are we going to go by this strategy?" Emma asks with a sigh, peering into the shop over his shoulder. He grins, bemused, as she rises to her tiptoes in the effort. "For all we know, she could live in one of those cottages. That would really be hiding, not just parading around in shops."

"And how would she with nothing to her name after fleeing?" he questions, raising an eyebrow.

"She could have family here, friends, even," Emma mutters. "Just because neither of us did doesn't mean this mystery tattoo woman doesn't."

It's a fair point. Killian sighs, scrubbing at his face with his hand. "Do you have a better idea?"

Emma frowns, shaking her head. "No, I don't."

"Well, then," Killian pulls the door in front of them open with a flourish, the welcome bell attached to the top of it chiming to announce their entrance into the shop. "After you, _darling_."

Emma rolls her eyes, keeping her voice hushed in case of any eavesdroppers. "Let me guess, we're madly in love and seeking fine clothing for our wedding?"

Killian shrugs lackadaisically as he drapes his arm over her shoulder. "If the sails aren't torn, why mend them?"

Emma groans, letting her hand wrap around his midsection as they stumble into the shop.

The woman's - the shopkeeper, he's guessing - eyes widen upon seeing them before quickly trying to mask her expression. Killian narrows his, flitting across the clothing shop in a quick sweep of it. There's nothing that seems particularly suspicious about the place, just that the clothes are more luxurious than what most tailors offer. Then again, this village is a little more upscale, so it is hardly a call for paranoia.

Then _again_ , it's easy to be paranoid when people truly _are_ out to get you.

"Hello," Killian grins broadly, laying on the charm to be as disarming as possible. "My soon-to-be wife and I are seeking some fineries for our honeymoon. Would you be able to offer your assistance?"

The woman frowns. "You two are new faces, here. I don't think I've seen you before."

They both laugh, uncomfortably, sharing twin expressions of thinly veiled panic. "Oh, you know, we've always wanted to travel the kingdom. We figured that getting everything we need for our wedding would be the perfect opportunity," Emma offers, resting her head on Killian's shoulder for good measure.

"Aye," Killian chuckles jovially. "Not that her parents are fond of me taking her out to see the world, of course, but you must know how that goes."

The parental disapproval always strikes a chord with someone and gets them distracted, so Killian breaths a sigh of relief at the opportunity to use it. The woman still eyes them suspiciously, as if she is trying to solve a particularly challenging riddle.

"We don't get a lot of new faces," she continues, instead of responding to their unsolicited story.

Emma is gripping Killian's waist so tight he wonders if it's going to leave bruises.

"We should be on our way," Emma smiles tightly. "Sorry for bothering you."

"I have," the woman says, taking a deep breath to steady herself just as they almost step out of the door. "A friend in a nearby village. She said that The Savior and a male companion visited her. Is that..."

She lets the sentence hang in the air as Killian and Emma shift in discomfort. Killian's arm tightens around her shoulder, as if that will help the situation in the slightest. It won't, but it does provide a small measure of comfort.

(He briefly curses the librarian.)

"Are you the Savior?" the woman asks, looking up at Emma with her doe eyes wide and pleading.

Emma groans, setting her hand on her forehead in exasperation. Killian can practically see the thoughts racing through her head, her sense of self preservation locked in a firm battle with her need to help every bloody living thing. "I mean, yeah…"

She doesn't have time to finish her sentence before she's falling backwards, the dust the woman threw in her face only letting her cough for a second before she loses consciousness. Killian barely has time to catch her before she hits the ground, lifting his head to face the woman with his jaw agape. "What the bloody hell did you-"

And, just like that, he's out too.

-/-

"What the hell happened?" Emma asks groggily, slowly opening her eyes. And then she closes and opens them again, when all she's met with is darkness.

Either she's gone blind or she's in a very, very dark room. _Fantastic._

Killian - or at least, an accented male voice who she very much _hopes_ is Killian - grunts from somewhere behind her. He sounds close, at least. She lifts her hands to reach for him in the pitch dark before she realizes that she doesn't need to. Their hands are tied together.

"Killian," she says, grasping at his hand. "What the hell happened?"

He curses, then, letting his head hit the back of hers. Emma winces before he quickly apologizes. "Sorry, love. I haven't a clue."

Emma squeezes her eyes shut, not that it makes much of a difference anyway. Even her other sense are sabotaged. The only sound in the room is their breathing and the sound of their heartbeats. There isn't so much as the sound of footsteps or conversation above them. "She knocked us out."

"Evidently."

"And dragged us here," she continues. "Why the hell would she do that?"

"To turn us over to the guards," Killian answers without hesitation. The answer is so obvious, he doesn't need to even think about it. "You forget we have a bounty on our heads, love."

"Shit," she curses, tugging again at the rope and hissing when all it does is chafe her wrists. Her hands bump awkwardly with Killian's, who just seems resigned to his current bondage. "We never should have gone in there."

He sighs heavily. "We could hardly anticipate being dragged into a dark room."

"If the boat isn't broken, don't fix it," Emma mimics his words from earlier sarcastically, pulling at the ropes and groaning when she still doesn't feel any give. Her wrists are going to be red and raw by the time she's done, but it's better that than dead at the hands of Regina.

"If the sails aren't torn, don't mend them," he corrects, irritated. "I'm not the one who told the woman I was the Savior."

"She insinuated that she was a friend of Belle's!"

"Who we know so bloody well?"

"We saved her life and she helped us out," Emma groans, wishing more than anything she could escape this nightmare. She can't even walk away from him with her hands tied to him. This, this is the real torture.

"I don't feel particularly aided at the moment," Killian hisses.

"Fine, fine," Emma relents with a groan. "We're stuck here, either way. We just have to figure out a way to get the hell out of here."

"Perhaps I can," he starts, trying to lift his arms from behind him and over his head. He only makes it halfway up their backs. "Perhaps I can get our hands in front of me, use my mouth to untie it. I've learned to untie knots with my teeth, by now."

"What?" Emma asks, her arms aching from the movement. The woman obviously wasn't very gentle, she can feel bruises from where she must have been tossed into the Cellar from Hell and her shoulders pang in protest of the movement. "Dislocate your shoulder? And mine, while you're at it."

He sighs, dropping their hands back to the dirt floor. "It's just our wrists that are bound. Perhaps you'll be able to reach up and untie yours with your fingers?"

Emma scoffs. "I don't know if you've noticed, but my fingers aren't exactly freakishly long enough to reach up and untie rope on my wrists."

He skims her fingers with his, then, brushing over her knuckles. "Your fingers are tiny, Swan, bloody hell."

"Thanks for the critique," she mutters dryly. "I think we should give up on the rope. We need to find a way out of here. At least our feet aren't tied so we can walk."

"Ah, and which one of us should offer to run headlong into a wall in the pitch black darkness?"

"Right now?" Emma asks, irritation blatant in her voice. "I'm tempted to sacrifice you."

"Lovely," Killian replies, voice drenching with sarcasm. "I see we are feeling affectionate today, Swan."

"Forgive me," Emma sighs, still trying to blink away the darkness of the room. Eyes were eventually supposed to adjust to darkness, right? But at least in most dark places you at least had the shine of the moon, a glimpse of stars, something. Here there's nothing. There's only hearing (which she would like to do less of at the moment), feeling (which, again, she would also like to do less of if the throbbing in her head and the burning on her wrists are any indication), smell (inhaling makes her gag on the scent of mold, stale and wet), and taste. She isn't going to lick walls.

They're just going to have to feel.

"Lean on me and I'll lean on you," Emma instructs, clasping his hands - wooden and flesh - in hers for support. "Then we can try to stand."

He grunts his assent. Emma plants her feet firmly on the ground, determined not to skitter and slide on the dirt of the floor. They manage to pull themselves up into a standing position, even though their balance is admittedly questionable.

"Bring your arms to the right," Emma says, moving her hands in that direction. "Maybe we can feel along the walls for a door."

"So I can lose the other hand?" he asks in disbelief.

"Do you want to lose your life?"

"Fair point."

They feel along the walls, slowly feeling around for any hint of give. It's mainly rocks that she's sure will leave callouses and bruises on their hands, but when they start to skim along the ceiling (the tips of Emma's toes and the arch of her back are going to hate her, she swears) they manage to feel wood.

They push and the hatch is open.

"I'd suggest for you to give me a boost, love," Killian mutters as light filters through the cellar and provides a hell of an adjustment for her eyes. "But I imagine that would be rather difficult."

Emma squints. "How the hell are we going to get up there?"

"Depends," Killian says dryly. "Can you do a handstand? I, admittedly, cannot, but the odds are better for you."

-/-

His arms hurt with the exertion it took to lift Emma up out of there and drag himself in after her (there was a brief moment of fear as he almost thought his elbow had gotten pulled out of place, but luckily the pain was just temporary). Still, it's better than being dead.

They wind up gasping on the floor of the same shop they were knocked out in, hands still bound between them and backs against each other.

"Should we try standing?" Killian wheezes, his breath coming out in a sharp staccato.

Emma shakes her head. "Give me...a minute...everything...hurts."

"Aye," he nods, still gasping. "Aye, that it does."

There's a crash at the other side of the shop and they both groan, turning around to face the noise.

It's the shopkeeper, again, this time holding a knife. Of course she's holding a bloody knife, because they've been so blessed by fortune with the expanse of her generosity.

"Come to cut us free, lass?" Killian asks, sounding bored. "Because we would vastly appreciate it."

"How did you get out?" she asks, auburn eyebrows raising in disbelief.

Emma grunts. "Hard work and determination. The kind that we might need to use if you try to use that knife on us. Or if you use the knockout powder again. Killian, how long can you hold your breath for?"

"Quite a while," he replies dryly. "I am a sailor, after all. I'm also quite adept with sharp objects, given my namesake."

"What namesake?" the woman asks, eyes narrowing.

"Captain Hook," he answers cheerily.

She frowns. Emma huffs.

"What's your name?" Emma asks, finally, as the shopkeeper wavers with the knife in her hand.

"Aurora," she answers reluctantly.

"Well, Aurora," Emma starts, sighing heavily. "If you could cut us loose, we could maybe forget this whole thing and go on our merry way."

"Do you know how much capturing the Savior is worth in gold? Add the pirate and you almost double your fortune," Aurora says the words as if they're the most obvious in the world.

"No amount of money is worth letting this woman continue to ruin people's live-"

Emma stops, abruptly, when Aurora pulls out the signs, worn by weather. It just lists their names, Captain Hook and The Savior. That, and the reward for catching them. The bounty is...she can see how it'd be tempting.

"Bloody hell," Killian exclaims, taking in the magnitude of the fortune on his head. "I nearly want to turn myself in for this much gold."

"We know how much you value yourself at, then," Emma deadpans.

"That's close," Killian shrugs. "You, however, are worth more than that sum. Regina is selling you a bit short, love."

"That's a macabre compliment," Aurora mutters, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, how you tolerate it is beyond me, Savior."

"I'd agree with you if not for the fact you just had the both of us bound in a cellar," Emma replies tightly, a grimace on her face. "Honestly, what would you want with that much money, anyway?"

"None of your business," she replies sharply. "I need you both alive, but that doesn't mean I can't tighten the knots and make it harder for you to escape when I bring you to the-"

Emma headbutts Aurora when she gets close enough to try to tighten the knots at their wrists, knocking her out in one swift motion. She falls to the ground almost immediately. Emma puffs a burst of air exasperatedly, the action causing her long bangs to blow away from her forehead.

"That'll leave a mark," Killian comments from beside her, craning his neck so he can take a better look at her.

Emma grimaces, but she seems to shrug it off rather quickly. "You just have to aim with the right part of your forehead. She'll be fine."

"Ah," Killian replies thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you have a plan to get us out of these bounds, yet?"

-/-

Emma and Killian stand in front of her a few hours later, arms crossed and frowning. The two of them are, thankfully, no longer tied together. They finally, carefully, managed to remove the rope with the assistance of a passerby.

("My wife's...ahem...experimenting has gotten us into a bit of trouble, lad. We discovered it's rather difficult to attain pleasure when you're facing the wrong way and your hands are a bit out of commission..."

Emma elbows him in the back, their position making it easy for her to. Killian just grins wildly and winks unashamedly, as the blushing tradesman quickly undoes their knots with muttered apologies.)

"The tables have turned, lass," Killian preens in a sing-song voice, being fittingly obnoxious. Emma would chide him for it, but the woman decided to keep the both of them captive. It's the least they can do to return the favor.

("We're not doing it to keep her captive. We're doing it to figure out what the hell she wants."

"To kidnap us, I reckoned she made that fairly apparent. If you want to pry further into her motivations, the sum of gold should be of assistance."

"But why would she even _do_ with that much gold?"

"What I would do: buy an extravagant property and decorate herself myself in jewels."

Emma only huffed and rolled her eyes.)

Aurora blinks awake, her tied hands coming up to the bruise blossoming on her head.

"Sorry," Emma grimaces. "It was kind of a necessity. You did just try to kill the both of us by turning us over."

Aurora's mouth only forms into a firm line, eyes hardening. "I did what I had to do."

"And why did you have to do it?" Emma asks, crouching in front of her. Killian steps, carefully, behind her. His eyes are firmly trained on Aurora, making sure she doesn't try anything.

"Why anyone would," Aurora blusters, looking away from Emma. "For the gold."

"You're lying," Emma says, her voice matter-of fact. She knows this much. Emma may not be able to duck a handful of knockout powder, but she can at least tell when someone isn't telling the truth. "It's about more than that for you."

"And how would you know?" Aurora challenges, raising her chin defiantly. "You don't know anything about me."

"I don't," Emma acquises, easily, as Killian looks on with curious eyes. "But I'm good at telling when people are lying, Aurora. And you are. And if you tell me what the real reason is, maybe I can help you."

"Because you're the _Savior_ ," Aurora says, bitter and disbelieving.

"You don't think I am," Emma summarizes, raising her eyebrows.

"I think the queen thinks you are," Aurora retorts. "But I stopped believing in the fairytale of a Savior a long time ago."

"And when was that?" Emma presses. "When did you stop believing that the Savior was real?"

Aurora frowns, waging an internal battle that makes creases on her forehead grow prominent and her tied hands wring each other anxiously. "The queen took my husband, alright? And as much as these people like to tell stories of her one day getting defeated, I know she won't be. Our only hope is being willing to do what needs to be done to keep the people we love safe."

Killian cocks his head to the side, looking contemplative. "You think that if you offer us up on a silver platter to Regina, you can get him in exchange?"

"What other choice do I have?" Aurora asks, fire burning in her eyes as she spits the words out.

"Well," Emma replies with a shrug. "There's always...not...murder."

Aurora just stares at her.

"Anyway," Emma diverts uncomfortably, meeting Killian's eyes as she turns her head over her shoulder and stands. "We get it."

Killian's jaw drops. "We do?"

"We do," Emma nods. "And we'll help you get him back."

"We will?" Killian asks, again, letting more disbelief fill in his voice. "She just tried to _kill us_."

"Yeah," Emma replies abruptly, turning back to face a similarly shocked Aurora. "She did. She thought it was the only way to save her husband and we're going to prove that she's wrong."

Aurora blinks. "What?"

"What's your husband's name?"

"Phillip," Aurora answers, befuddled.

"As lovely as it is to get to know each other," Killian says, arms sweeping out in a mock-inviting gesture. "Truly, it is. I'm still curious as to why we're deciding to help a woman who, just a few short hours ago, was determined to turn us over to be savagely killed."

"I'm similarly confused," Aurora adds.

Emma crosses her arms as she faces Killian. "Didn't you say that you'd turn _yourself_ in for that much gold?"

"Yes," Killian replies shortly. "But, in the hours that preceded - including some quaint time in a dark cellar contemplating my impending death - I've come to realize that my life is worth a larger sum. In addition to that, I was being facetious."

"Is he usually like this?" Aurora asks curiously, her eyes moving to Emma.

"You have no idea," Emma says dryly. "Usually he's even more dramatic. I'm surprised he isn't reacting more."

"Oi!" Killian protests loudly. "Forgive me for being skeptical about helping a woman who, let me reiterate once more, nearly killed us."

"Do you know where Phillip is, now?" Emma asks Aurora instead of responding.

Aurora sighs. "A nearby jail. He's been there a year, after he helped a man who was punished by the guards for speaking ill of the queen. All he did was patch up his wounds, but that was...when he was spotted, that was enough."

"And they took him away," Emma surmises, eyes narrowing. "Why didn't they just kill him already?"

"Sometimes the guards are particularly malicious," Killian explains, frowning. "Torturing people for long periods of time rather than just killing them on the spot."

"And Phillip qualified?" Emma asks, face scrunching in confusion.

"They aren't fond of those who offer assistance to enemies," Killian mutters. "He could have struck a nerve."

Aurora nods. "The guard, um, they had a history."

Emma bites her lip contemplatively, rocking back to the heels of her feet.

"What's on your mind, Swan?" Killian asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Here's the plan," Emma starts, motioning towards Aurora. "I will get 'caught' by the guards while you pretend to be in on it. You get Phillip in a swap for me. Killian steals the keys from a guard to get me out."

Killian raises his eyebrows almost to his hairline. "You want to repeat that? Because what I just heard sort of sounds a bit like insanity, which I previously assumed you weren't capable of."

Emma glares at him, then. "It's not insane. It will work. You know these guards are about as smart as a bag of rocks."

"Bags of rocks with deadly weapons," he adds. "A rather large distinction, especially if you're unarmed."

"Regina wants me alive," Emma grits out. "They'll keep me overnight in the nearby jail - the one Phillip's in - before transporting me to her. As long as I'm out there by the night, we'll be fine."

"And if you're not?"

"I _will_ be," she reiterates forcefully.

Aurora clears her throat, looking to the both of them pointedly. "And what makes you so sure this plan will even work?"

"You want your husband back?" Emma asks.

"Yes," Aurora answers sharply. "More than anything in the entire world, more than you can even understand."

"Then it will work."

Killian shakes his head, scrubbing his face with his hand. "This is pure and utter madness, Swan..."

He trails off, not finishing his statement. Emma looks to him, then, waiting for him to continue with pleading eyes. "But?"

"But," Killian groans. "I have developed a rather unfortunate inclination of trusting your judgement. I have yet to see you fail, Swan."

She smiles a little, at that. "Unfortunate?"

"Oh, bugger off," he rolls his eyes. "I'll do it. Might complain during, but I'll do it."

"That's all I need to hear," Emma shrugs, moving her eyes back to Aurora. "And you?"

"Why are you doing this?" Aurora asks a question instead of answering Emma's, a look of confusion on her face.

Emma shrugs, again, not knowing quite how else to convey her feelings. "It's the right thing to do."

"To risk your life for someone who was willing to sacrifice yours?" Aurora asks in disbelief.

"Believe me," Killian snorts, "I have the same question."

"Because you did it to save someone you love," Emma says, frowning. "When things are this bad, desperation makes us do things we shouldn't."

-/-

Killian will never bloody understand why he allows Emma to rope him into such things. Helping an innocent girl get home to parents - with minimal harm incurred by them by doing so - was one thing. Emma getting herself captured to help a woman with an apparent proclivity for handing people over to be killed was entirely another.

The fact that he's even allowing himself to be embroiled in such a scheme speaks volumes about what his once sharp mind has disintegrated into. One pleading glance from emerald eyes and he may as well be a puddle on the floor.

Not that there's anything to note, out of that. Any person would be under the thrall of the Savior, with her righteous dignity and all that. Saving people - standard procedure for someone given the title the Savior - is an appealing endeavor, after all. Even if the people she's attempting to help are hardly the most trustworthy sort.

(Himself, included, if Killian is being fair.)

(Which he isn't, if he's meant to entrust Emma's life in this woman's hands.)

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Killian grunts out for the second time as they trudge towards the jail. "We could turn back this instant, love, pretend we stepped nary a foot."

Emma rolls her eyes, Aurora a few paces ahead of her. "I'm sure."

He frowns, touching his fingers lightly to her wrist and stepping in front of her. "I know I've said this before, but if guards are going to carry you away...I can't know that you'll be able to get safely out."

"What?" Emma asks, finally having had enough. "Do you not trust me to do this? Are you that convinced that my plan is going to bite us in the ass?"

Killian's expression grows perturbed, quickly shaking his head. "Hardly, love. It's not you I don't trust."

"I can hear you, you know," Aurora calls over her shoulder.

"I'm aware," Killian retorts. "You were meant to."

"Listen," Emma says, grabbing Killian's shoulder. "It will work out fine, alright? Just trust me."

"I do," he answers hastily. "Believe me, I do, but -"

"You still don't think we should do this," Emma surmises, giving him a hurt look.

"That's not it, Swan," he protests, his hand coming up to where hers rest on his shoulder.

"You really think I'm enjoying doing this?" Emma huffs, withdrawing her hand. "You think I enjoy thinking about what could happen if it all goes terribly wrong?"

"No," Killian hisses under his breath. "I don't. But I also don't know if you realize how badly this woman could jeopardize our safety. What happens if she rats the both of us out to the guards, hm?"

Emma frowns, considering his words. "Why would she?"

"For the gold," he says shortly.

Emma sighs, looking down at her boots and slumping her shoulders. He worried about her defeated body language before her eyes come up to meet his pleadingly and her hands clasp themselves on the lapel of his jacket. "Killian, please. If you can't trust her, trust me."

And, here he is, a puddle for the Savior's begging gaze.

He groans in exasperation, staring up at the sky. "If anything seems off, we're leaving and we're not looking back, alright?"

Emma grins and he knows she's won.

 _Bloody hell._

-/-

They set up camp, that night, because it appears the trek to the jail is going to take more than a day. As they're laying out blankets (Emma offers hers to Aurora, because of course she does), Killian takes a minute to ponder how this would be a perfect opportunity for Aurora to decide to summon guards to come after them. If Regina's men can't fight them when they're awake, they'll have a better chance when they're asleep.

Killian grimaces as he starts the kindling for a fire, keeping a vigilant eye on Aurora as she lays on the borrowed quilt. "I'll keep watch, tonight."

Emma looks at him a little cautiously. "Are you sure?"

"Aye," he nods, sharpening the wood with his hook (which he's dragged out of his satchel, for good measure) with a little more force than is entirely necessary.

"We'll switch shifts," Emma says. "Wake me up when you go to sleep?"

He nods again, this time silently. Emma moves to sit beside him on the log where he's attempting to light a fire. Killian tries it, again and again, but it's difficult to light a fire with steel. It's yet another example of his sudden incompetency.

Emma grabs some wood, then, and it takes her a total of one attempt. He grins wryly, shaking his head.

"Show off," he mutters, but the words have no bite.

"Just trying to help," Emma hums, watching the fire grow with watchful eyes. She adds a little kindling as it's necessary, trying to ensure it'll last.

He stays quiet, unusually so. Emma turns to face him, after a moment, meeting his eyes with concern. "Everything okay?"

"Aye," he murmurs, feeling sharply helpless. It's not about the fire. It's just if Emma is this determined to help the woman, he can't stop her, but there's a pang in his sides at the thought of Emma being trapped in a cell and reliant on an untrustworthy woman keeping her mouth shut.

"This sucks," Emma exhales, staring at her hands.

He looks up, surprised. "What does?"

"It's…" she hesitates, for a moment, and he acutely realizes she's not just talking about the situation with Aurora. "It's a mess. I've been trying to do the right thing, what my parents would want me to do and what _everyone_ would want me to do, but…"

"It's difficult," he surmises. "Living up to those expectations."

"And I'm stuck," Emma sighs, a little too aggressively poking the fire with a stick, "running for my life from a woman I've never met. A woman who has - apparently - wanted me dead since I was a baby just for existing. If she can put ordinary people through hell just for not seeming loyal enough, I don't think it's going to be a pretty picture, for me. She could torture me for days or weeks or, for that matter, years. Hell, she could even just take my heart and use me to do whatever she wants me to-"

She breaks her sentence off and it's like the oxygen has been sapped out of the air. He freezes, for a moment, and Emma looks concerned. There's an awkward, stilted silence between them before he breaks it.

"If that ever happens, if the queen ever gets ahold of my heart," he says, uncharacteristically somber as he looks up at the night sky. "I'd rather be dead."

She frowns, still fiddling with the kindling. "Way to keep it light."

He sighs, a sad and forced smile on his face. "Apologies, love."

The fire continues to crackle, but the air between them is silent once more. He can tell Emma is aching to know more. It's only a matter of time before she can't resist asking any more questions.

"Has that happened before?" Emma asks carefully.

Killian laughs, bitterly shaking his head. "What would make you think that, love?"

He's sure Emma doesn't need any kind of lie detecting powers to know the answer to her question. "I'm sorry."

His head shoots up, eyes hesitant and surprised as they find hers over the small flames between them. Hook can only gape at her, for a moment, surprised by her simple apology for something she was the farthest thing from culpable for. "Why are you apologizing?"

It almost sounds harsh, out of his mouth, but he's so unused to the words he can't help but be. Killian winces, but Emma seems unbothered by his tone.

"Because it would suck to have the Evil Queen play you as a puppet for twisted shit," she replies simply, as if the words require no further explanation.

"It wasn't Regina," Killian admits, after a beat.

Emma frowns, curiosity getting the better of her. "Then who-"

"A tale for another time, love," he mutters, eyes downcast. Killian has had enough of the pushing, for tonight."You should get some rest."

"You can tell me, you know," Emma offers, scooting closer to him instead of taking his advice.

Emma, of course, is incapable of letting sleeping dogs lie. Killian has worked this long to keep thoughts of his revenge at bay these past few weeks, keeping in mind the first task at hand before tackling his ultimate one. Defeat Regina, then use his newly procured safety to pursue the Dark One and end his miserable life once and for all. Even if it ends his own in the process, it's well-worth it.

Emma notices the dark look that has crossed over his face, changing from mere sullenness to white-hot anger. She waits a beat, the silence between them deafening, before she rests her hand over his.

"You don't have to," she says, running her thumb over his strained knuckles. "But you can."

To tell her of his ultimate desire of revenge could sabotage more than he's willing to. So, he just swallows, hard, and paints a brittle smile on his face. "Perhaps when conditions aren't so precarious, hm?"

"That could be indefinitely," Emma snorts, but her eyes are still soft as they meet his. "Seriously, Killian, I won't...I won't judge you, if that's what you're thinking. We're in this together."

He shakes his head. "It's a long, painful story, I'm afraid. You should be getting some rest."

Emma frowns, but complies. She stands up, moving to grab a quilt and lie down.

Killian sighs heavily. If paranoia didn't keep him awake, the tension in his body would.

-/-

The rest of the trek to the jail passes by without much incident, thankfully.

"So," Emma starts as soon as the jail is in view, crossing her arms. "Here goes nothing. You good waiting in the trees, Killian?"

He nods. "Aye, Swan."

Aurora frowns, looking to Emma. "Are you sure you want to-"

"Yes," Emma says sharply, holding out her wrists for Aurora to tie. "Just make sure you tie loosely, please."

Aurora complies, then, making loose knots when she twines the rope around Emma's hands. "Thank you so much for doing this. You really didn't have to. I know I haven't exactly been the most…"

"It's fine," Emma reassures her. "We'll get him back, Aurora. I promise."

Aurora's answering smile is a little watery.

-/-

It goes mostly according to plan.

The guards at the jail look jubilant at the prospect of getting their hands on the Savior as Aurora hands her over. They relent to swapping Phillip in exchange even as one guard grumbles.

(It may help that Aurora threatened to kill her right there, a knife at Emma's throat, if they didn't hand him over. It was a suggestion of Emma's, who wasn't sure that they'd be the type to abide by promises.)

A guard brings out her husband, shortly after, and Aurora releases Emma from her hold.

"Phillip!"

"Aurora," Phillip exclaims, shaking his head even as he embraces her. His face is bruised and the man definitely looks as if he's seen better days. Phillip only allows himself a brief moment to sway in Aurora's arms before he looks over at Emma and his face falls. "The guards told me you swapped me for The Savior? You shouldn't have done this. You should have left me"

Aurora is on the brink of tears. "I did, Phillip. I swear I'll explain everything when we get home."

"Aurora-"

"Get out of here," one of the guards commands gruffly. "Before we change our minds."

Phillip hesitates, but Aurora tugs at his sleeves. Once the guard makes a threatening motion towards the two of them, they both comply.

Emma watches them go, hoping the guards aren't feeling particularly malicious today. She's on the top of Regina's particularly cruel hit list, so she can't imagine things are going to go well for her..

"Don't have anything to say, do you Savior?" one of the men taunts maliciously, holding up her sword as he takes it from her belt.

Emma just stares straight ahead, unperturbed.

-/-

Regina must want her guards to bring Emma to her intact becaue the guards hardly bother her at all. All they do is keep a careful eye on where she's locked up, staring her dead in the eye as she stares back. Once their shifts get done, she gets a little bored of the cell. She and Killian agreed to wait until night to try to whisk her out of there, when the guards would be busy sleeping. Killian is apparently taking his time.

Emma notices wires twined on the spoons they keep in the cell and she can't really resist the temptation to get herself out.

There isn't a guard in sight - they've all gone to bed - and she finds herself very, very tempted.

Emma can save herself just fine, she reasons, quickly making use out of the wires and working at the lock. She learned to pick locks at a young age, they always provided easy access to food carts and places to sleep, so forgive her - really - if she makes use of that skill now.

She can just catch Killian before he catches her.

With that thought, the cell door unlocks and she lets out a sigh of relief. Emma snatches her sword from where it was discarded on the floor, tucking it back into her belt, before rushing through the door.

Emma hears footsteps down the corridor she just slipped into and draws her sword only to quickly recognize Aurora and Phillip.

"Emma," Aurora exhales in relief as Emma lowers her sword. She frowns, noticing they're missing an essential third person.

"Where the hell is Killian?" Emma hisses out, looking around the corridor for a trace of him.

Aurora sighs. "I didn't see him, Emma. He went in to get you out and when he didn't come back, we came in. We were going to try to get you out ourselves."

Phillip waves, a little awkwardly. "Ah, I'm Phillip. Nice to meet you, Emma. I never thought I'd get to meet the Savior. I'll admit I was a little worried when they told me Aurora swapped me for you, but she explained-"

"I can't leave Killian," Emma says forcefully, her voice leaving no room for argument. "I can't."

"Emma," Aurora protests, meeting her eyes regretfully. "You don't know what could have happened."

"You're right," Emma replies shortly. "But I do know I'm getting him out. That's enough for me. You got your husband out, now I'm getting my..."

Aurora raises her eyebrows. "Your what?"

"Killian. I'm getting him out," Emma groans, not having the time to argue semantics. "They must have carried him in just as I got out."

"Which means the guards are going to be on even more high alert, if their prisoners keep disappearing," Aurora points out with a frown.

Emma looks to Phillip, then, who she's mostly ignored in all of her worry-induced haze. "Phillip, are you any good with a sword?"

"I'm a decent swordsman," he replies, holding up a sword he must have pilfered from a guard. "Even if a weapon isn't mine."

"So am I," Aurora replies with a sigh, drawing a sword - which also must have been stolen - from her belt. Emma raises her eyebrows, not expecting the woman who knocked her out with sand to be willing to resort to other weapons. Phillip, similarly, seems surprised.

"What?" Aurora asks innocuously, looking to Phillip. "You were gone. I learned."

Phillip grins fondly, shaking his head. "In all the time that's passed, I think I've only grown to love you all the more."

"Cute," Emma deadpans. "We need to get Killian."

"Right," Phillip replies quickly. "Right."

-/-

It's just Killian's luck that he manages to get captured by the guards as he sneaks into the jail. The second he knocked out the guard keeping watch, two were immediately upon him. Once they noticed the hook - which they were quick to pin to his side - they only got more determined.

("Just our luck, boys, the Savior _and_ Captain Hook!"

Hook just let out a long-suffering sigh.)

The good news is that once Killian got to the cell, Emma was already gone from it. That sent the men carrying him in into a frenzy, nearly ripping the place apart searching for her. Emma, clever lass that she is, obviously managed to get out without him. His greatest fear was that she would be stuck inside and at the tender mercies of the queen and her men.

The, obvious, bad news is that now he's at those very tender mercies.

Killian groans in exasperation after a few minutes in the cell, letting his back hit the wall as he ponders the best way to get out. They took away his hook - it's resting just outside the cell along with this sword - but perhaps there's another way to get out. After all, Emma managed.

He spots a contraption on the floor of the cell, wires twined together in a manner that looks decidedly unusual. Killian frowns, moving to pick it up and hold it in his hand to analyze it further. He doesn't have time to try it with the lock before he hears footsteps, immediately throwing it back to the ground and standing over it.

"Emma?" Killian asks, baffled, as Emma appears at the cell in front of him with keys jangling in her hand. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Getting you out of here," Emma mutters in concentration as she tries a series of keys, going through three of them before she manages to find the right one. It twists with ease and her eyes alight with relief. "We should be quick if we don't want to deal with the guards. I knocked out the one keeping watch outside."

Killian just stares up at her for a brief moment, baffled. "You shouldn't have come after me. You were out and safe, trying to get me out too only endangers you."

"You didn't leave me," Emma reminds him with a small smile, cutting his bounds with her sword. "Consider this returning the favor."

"I wasn't risking a slow, painful death at the hands of guards that could step through here at any moment," Killian hisses as his eyes dart around the room, standing up to come face to face with her.

"Yeah," Emma corrects with a knowing look. "You were. What do you call agreeing to stick with me in this kingdom when you have a target on your back? Especially if the alternative is fleeing to another one. And you agreed to getting me out of here, so, you literally did risk a slow, painful death at the hands of guards who could step through here at any minute."

Killian gapes, then, unable to come up with a suitable retort.

Emma groans impatiently, grabbing his hand and leading him forward. "We don't have time to argue about this, okay? Phillip and Aurora are waiting for us and I don't know how long it will take for the guards to realize we've escaped," she casts a look to the guard knocked unconscious on the floor outside the room. "Or for a few of them to wake up."

"Right," he replies quickly, gesturing ahead. "After you."

-/-

Phillip and Aurora find them a safe distance away from the dungeon, as promised, after they helped Emma get the keys. Aurora quickly hugs the both of them at once upon seeing them. "You did it," she exclaims into their shoulders, a far cry from the woman who tossed them into a cellar for a shot at a prisoner swap. "You saved him."

"It was really no trouble, lass-"

"It's kind of our job, these days."

"Thank you," Phillip adds behind her, with a kind smile. "I'm in an insurmountable amount of debt to the both of you, truly."

Aurora withdraws after Emma and Killian both offer her uncomfortable back pats. The display of affection really came out of nowhere, but - again - desperation does weird things to people.

Emma meets Killian's eyes as they both step back, quickly breaking eye contact with him when he sends her a questioning look.

(Really, really weird things, Emma swears.)

Phillip and Aurora go on their merry way after more profuse thank-yous, then head onto another village where Phillip claims he has other family. They wish them luck and move on.

-/-

It's not until they get into an inn in the next village that they actually get the chance to talk about what's happened.

"Two beds, again," Emma comments casually as Killian sits on one of them.

"You didn't have to risk yourself, back there, you know," he mutters, taking a long drag from his flask. He taps his fingers along the sides of it contemplatively as he stares at the wall. He's still unable to reconcile the woman who reluctantly accepted his assistance to stay alive with the woman who came back for him when it posed potential grievous injury to her.

Emma just sighs as she sits next to him, their shoulders touching. "Yes, I did."

He blinks.

"No," he says, turning to face her with what surely must be an odd look on his face. "You didn't. But you did."

Emma stares at her hands in her lap instead of meeting his eyes. She finally relents, after a beat, meeting his eyes with a matter-of-fact look that tries to conceal any deeper feeling. The fact that it's matter-of-fact that she'd save his life and risk her own speaks enough volumes to him. "You'd do the same for me."

Killian nods, then, unable to deny the statement. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't say it was a lie. "Aye, I would."

She gives him a soft smile, the rare sort. It's neither reluctantly laughing at a joke of his nor something she forces onto her face in an effort to lull or reassure villagers. It's an earnest upturn of her lips and her eyes shine. It's the kind of grin he thinks (hopes) she reserves just for him from now on.

"And I'd do it again," Emma tells him, finally.

He inhales sharply as he considers her words. "As would I."

An awkward beat of silence passes between the two of them, both unsure of what else to say. Killian relents to being the one to speak next, holding up his flask as an offering. "Don't suppose you'd like anything to drink, hm?"

Emma laughs, taking the rum from his hands. "I guess I could, just this once."

He meets her eyes over the flask as she takes a long swig. "Aye, just this once."


	6. Grace

_**A/N: Hey! It's Wednesday, so that means posting time. This chapter was a lot of fun to write (I say this every chapter, probably, but it still stands) and I really hope you guys enjoy it! I've been so, so overwhelmed by the response to this fic I just want to hug all of you and thank you so, so much for reading this weird, tropey story. You're all such sweet people and I appreciate it so much!**_

-/-

"That is the last time," Emma hisses through her teeth, her body shivering and her teeth chattering. She shifts her weight, anxiously attempting to move enough to combat the chill settling in her bones as they walk - run, really - out of the building. "The last time that we are ever going into a clothing shop. It only ever ends badly."

Badly, this time, meant the shop owner grilling the two of them about roaming together in sin. It seems not everyone is a fan of the old _'Look, we're cute and engaged! Don't suspect us!'_ routine. Emma doesn't really think the gods give a damn about teaming up with a man to save the stupid kingdom for ungrateful assholes, but maybe that's just her. By all accounts, Zeus really isn't in a damn position to talk about committing gross acts of indecency anyways.

It's also _freezing_ outside, much like the shop owner's heart when he kicked them out in the cold.

"Bloody shame, too," Killian frowns, running his hand up and down her shoulder in an attempt to warm her up. "Perhaps we could have been customers - you could use a coat instead of this pitiful cloak."

Emma casts him a dark look at his comment. "Forgive me, it was warmer when I left. The concern was more running for my life than appropriate winterwear."

"Your lips are nearly blue," Killian adds, brow furrowing as his thumb moves to sweep across her mouth. She bristles at the contact in surprise and he immediately retracts his hand. Emma presses her lips together at that, feeling the nearly foreign tingling on them.

"Apologies," he murmurs.

Emma shrugs, licking her lips absentmindedly. "It's fine."

Killian stares at her for a moment - from her conflicted expression to the way she rocks on her heels. He starts to tug off his long leather coat, which remained surprisingly unrumpled even after he pulled it from the bottom of his satchel when the temperature dropped. He kept it off, mostly, when they did the village-hopping or whatever he wanted to call it. Maybe the return of it - the coat fit for a pirate - is what made the shopowner so suspicious. But, cold is cold and Killian isn't much use for anyone as an icicle in a thin shirt.

(Not that the amount of chest hair exposed by him leaving the coat completely unbuttoned really must have helped with the chill in the air, but this is what he claimed he put it on again for.)

"That thing weighs more than I do," Emma points out before he can even manage to shuck it off to hand it over. "I appreciate the thought, but keep it."

Killian sighs, popping his collar up as he readjusts the coat on himself. "Suit yourself, love. Sure you'll be alright in the cold?"

"We just need to get to an inn and -"

Emma is cut off mid-sentence when the sound of commotion in the street distracts them, both pivoting around to face where they just heard clattering. A little girl stands before a guard - she doesn't look any older than ten - seemingly asking him for help. Youthful naivete, Emma swears.

"I don't have time to deal with street rats," the guard scowls, quickly waving her away.

"Excuse me," Killian is off before Emma can stop him (not that she would), launching himself in front of the little girl without hesitation. "How are you speaking to my daughter, mate?"

Whereas Emma is more the type to weave by without being detected and make diversions for the sake of saving people from village hijinks, Killian is all theatrics and grand gestures. It shows here. The guard just stands there, gaping. Emma is hot at Killian's heels, rushing to duck down in front of the little girl.

"Paige!" she blurts out the first name she can think of, more focused on appearing the concerned and worry-fraught mother than she is on name guessing. The girl's eyes are wide and surprised. She opens her mouth to say something before she rapidly closes it, catching on.. Emma gently clasps her hands along the sides of her face, laughing and nearly crying with relief as any mother should. "Paige, we were so worried about you."

Killian kneels down to join her. He pointedly ignores the guard as he ruffles the girl's hair. "You gave us quite the scare, darling, running off like that."

"I-" the little girl hesitates for a brief moment, wide eyes darting between the two of them. "I'm sorry, Papa."

Emma lets out a sigh of relief, pressing her forehead to hers in what looks like an affectionate, motherly gesture to the outside world as she whispers to the little girl. "We're going to help you get out of this, alright?"

The girl nods and Emma grins at her, trying to look reassuring. The situation puts her on edge enough that she may be showing too much teeth.

"You're her parents?" the guard asks in disbelief, looking between the two of them and the girl.

"What the bloody hell do you think?" Killian asks in irritation, moving his arm to wrap around the girl as Emma brushes her hair out of her face.

"Be careful with your tone," the guard warns, voice low as his hand ghosts around the sword at his belt.

"We've been looking for her for days, mate," Killian grits out, his words seeping with venom. He's a good actor, she'll give him this. "Forgive us if we're a bit protective with our daughter."

He's playing a dangerous card, here, threatening a guard like this. Killian must be insane if he's going to start something with a guard in the middle of the street. Regina's men have prides more easily wounded than their skins in a fight.

(And, trust her, they're not much at all in a fight.)

But the guard only sighs, seemingly leaning more towards seeing Killian as a protective father rather than a direct threat. He grunts heavily, looking up at the sky as if it'll give him an answer to the problem in front of him - as if Regina's voice will come booming with instructions on what to do through the barely visible clouds.

"Keep a closer eye on your kid," he says, motioning towards the two of them. "You never know the kind of trouble they can get into."

"Trust me," Emma replies, intending to be placating but coming off more defensive than anything else. Killian's grip tightens on the girl's shoulder. "We will."

Once he's out of sight, Emma moves to face the little girl again. She's wide-eyed and confused, understandably so, and Emma feels a pang at how lost she seems. "You wanna tell us what happened back there?"

The little girl shakes her head furiously, burying her face into Killian's shoulder as if that's going to help matters. Killian pats her head placatingly, raising his eyebrows at Emma.

Emma frowns. "Do you know where your parents are?"

She shakes her head, again, staying mute.

Killian poses the next question, gently lifting her chin up so she'll look at him. "Lass, what's your name?"

This is an answerable question, at least. "Grace," she answers, voice wobbly and lip quivering.

"Well, Grace," he replies in a quiet, soothing voice. The accent almost makes it melodious, as if he's singing her a lullaby rather than reassuring her with introductions. "My name is Killian. This is Emma."

She nods in understanding.

Killian continues with a small smile. "How old are you, Grace?"

"Nine," she replies meekly, curling into his shoulder. The corners of Emma's mouth upturn a little, at that.

Captain Hook - the most fearsome pirate in all the seas, by many accounts - has a weak spot for children. The wonders never cease.

"Ah," he continues, peering down at her by cocking his head to meet her eyes. "That's a lovely name. And your mum? Father? Where are they?"

That only seems to upset her more and she buries her face further into his shirt.

"Grace?" Emma asks gently, running her hand over her shoulder in what she's hoping is a comforting gesture. "You have to tell us so we can help you."

She seems to consider it, for a moment, her head raising a fraction of an inch from Killian's shoulder. "I was with Papa at the market. And then I lost him."

Emma frowns. "Do you know where you last saw him? When?"

She shrugs helplessly, a small movement of small shoulders. "Two days. I tried to look for him, but I was at a different market and now I'm here."

Emma looks to Killian then, curiously. "Where's the nearest market besides this one?"

"Next village over," he answers, arm still around Grace. "We should be able to get her there within the next day, I doubt she ventured far."

Emma eyes the way the sun is already descending in the sky. The sight of the sunset isn't exactly encouragement to start migrating. "Tomorrow, then," she murmurs, eyes flitting between the sky and Killian.

"Aye," he nods, as if helping a little girl get back to her father without question is just another thing to add to the schedule. "Tomorrow."

Grace disentangles herself from the protective shield the both of them form around her, looking at the two of them in confusion. "You can get me back to Papa?"

"We sure can," Emma answers with a small smile, still crouched to her eye level.

She gapes. Emma's heart pangs more than a little.

-/-

Grace's mood takes a downturn when they get to the inn, however, even after they make sure she has a hot meal in her. She's ravenous as she eats inside the tavern attached to the inn in a way that Killian's chest aches at, just a tad.

They both do their best to avert her eyes from the more salacious happenings as she eats, from the man so inebriated at the bar that he's falling off his seat to the sailor who is surely soliciting a lady of the night. Luckily, she's small enough that it's easy enough to shield her eyes by just strategitically positioning themselves to block her line of sight.

Emma and Killian agree on two rooms. One for the lass, one for them. Saves a bit of gold, at least.

(Truthfully, Hook's calculations for the amount of gold the two of them would need wasn't factoring in the constant financial aid to strangers. They're blowing through it at a concerning rate. He'll just have to make sure he can pickpocket one of the more obnoxious merchants next time he has the chance.)

(He's still a pirate, though he may not be enough of a black hearted cad enough to turn down helping a lost little girl.)

It's not until she gets to the door of the room that she starts to cry, tears welling up in her eyes. "I miss my room," she says, shaking her head feverently.

Emma's expression turns concerned as she peers down at her. "I'm sorry, kid. Hopefully we can get you back to it tomorrow, but this is the best we can do for now, okay?"

Grace nods, but she's still growing upset.

Killian hasn't had much experience with children who aren't demented teenagers brainwashed by an evil demon trying to savagely end his life, truth be entirely told. Dealing with upset little lasses and lads is hardly a skill he's cultivated over the years, but perhaps he can try now. Killian crouches down so that he's eye level with little Grace.

"Some sweets, eh?" he offers helplessly, pulling out a small block of chocolate that he managed to snag from a merchant as they made their way to the inn. Children and sweets had to be a righteous gamble, he was sure.

Grace is so upset she doesn't even notice the offer, storming into the room with tears streaming down her face. She slams the door behind her.

Killian gapes after her. Emma sighs heavily.

"Chocolate costs an arm and a leg and it isn't as if I have any body parts to spare," Killian comments wryly, not nearly as upset as he's pretending to be.

(Maybe he's a little upset, just at the way the little lass glared at him before she shut the door.)

Emma scoffs. "Please, like you actually paid for it. Chocolate doesn't fix missing fathers, Killian."

Killian's jaw drops at the (completely true) accusation, his hand coming up to his heart. "Swan! As if I'd set such a precedent as a negative role model!"

It's not as if Killian himself had much in the way of fatherly role models, he'll admit. Perhaps it's a case of like father, like son. His face falls after the exaggerated show of theatrics, letting his hand come down to his side and sighing. "Pirate captains aren't the best with children, love."

"I don't get it," Emma frowns in confusion. "You were great with her before, in the market. Now you're questioning that?"

Before self-awareness kicked in and he quickly, quickly realized that he has no business being around children, she means. The forceful reminder of that through angry little girl was quite the wake up call.

"The last time I was around children they were all trying to kill me, Swan," Killian protests, gesturing to where the little girl shut the door to the room at the inn. "Forgive me if I haven't quite mastered nannying."

"The fact that you have stories of children trying to kill you may be proof enough," Emma replies dryly. "Do I even want to ask?"

"Neverland," he says, shortly.

Emma releases a long-suffering sigh. "Yeah, well, Neverland sounds like somewhere I _never_ want to go."

"Funny, I told a similar joke to Pan. He wasn't as amused by my jesting."

"We should go in after her," Emma groans instead of directly replying, bumping her shoulder against the door Grace just rushed through.

"Why the bloody hell would we do that?"

"Um, because she's nine and she's crying because she misses her dad?"

Killian shifts, uncomfortably, looking at the door as if it's going to grow teeth and bite him. "She seemed rather upset, love, perhaps it's best we give her some time."

Emma's forehead furrows in confusion, her mouth turning downwards as she considers his words for a moment. It clicks, then, if the expression on her face is any indication.

"Oh my gods, Killian," Emma says, almost sounding gleeful at the revelation. "You're scared of her."

"Am not!" he protests quickly. He's Captain Hook, he isn't afraid of children.

(Perhaps he's a tad nervous about their reactions. It's one thing to make competition fearful of him, entirely another to be completely scary to children who don't even know who you are.)

"Are too," Emma replies, before realizing what she's said and quickly thinking better of it. "Okay, before we both turn into actual children, I'm going to stop that right there."

"Fine," he says curtly. He's being petulant, he knows, but what choice does he really have?

"Fine!" she exclaims, throwing her hands in the air.

The two of them glare at each other, for a moment, Killian tense and defensive and Emma torn between amused and exasperated.

"You're going to go in there and talk to her," Emma explains slowly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You're going to talk to her, get over your semi-fear of small children, and make her feel better. Okay?"

His eyebrows raise. "I don't remember consenting to this."

"Oh shut up," she retorts, opening the door to the room and gesturing for him to go through it.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he hisses, voice in a hushed whisper as the sound of crying filters through the doorway.

"Talk to her," Emma insists lowly, pushing him through the door. It seems to take a moment for his legs to function, but they catch up eventually. He stumbles into the room.

"Hello, little love," Killian greets cautiously, sitting down on the bed where she's curled under the covers, sobbing.

"Go away!" Grace insists, face buried in the pillows.

Killian cringes. How did he manage this before, in the market? Was it simply the matter of acting out of spite that made him somewhat useful? He looks to Emma, then, as if this will be sufficient enough evidence that he's incapable of handling this and that he should make a heel-faced turn right this very moment.

She just stares at him from the doorway, leaning against it with her arms crossed. The line of her shoulders is defiant and her eyes are stubbornly flickering from him to Grace. He won't be doing any escaping, then.

He sighs, patting Grace on the back gently. Killian sucks in a harsh breath, slowly exhaling. "You miss your father," he surmises, perhaps stating the obvious.

Grace looks up to nod, sniffling. "I wish I didn't get lost," she says, eyes red and face blotchy with her tears.

"We all get a bit lost, sometimes," he reassures her, his voice low and soft. Killian hopes it's comforting. "But sometimes we find people that help us get back home, eh?"

He meets Emma's eyes, then. She smiles, just a little bit.

He lets out an 'oof' of surprise when Grace hugs him tightly, then, arms cautiously coming around her in confusion. "You alright, there, little lass?"

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," Grace sniffles, clinging onto Killian's shirt as if it's a lifeline. "Thank you for helping me," she turns her head to look at Emma, then. "Both of you are very nice."

Emma's smile widens at that. "Anytime, Grace."

He chuckles, a little, carefully letting Grace go as she lies back down on the bed. "Can I tell you a secret, little lass?"

Her face scrunches up in confusion. He notices, with some relief, that he tears have virtually dried. "What?"

"Emma," he motions to her, then, and she straightens in bewilderment at the sound of her name. "Emma is the Savior. You know who the Savior is?"

"The hero that's going to defeat the Evil Queen!" Grace exclaims excitedly, eyes widening as she looks over to Emma in pure awe. Emma shifts, uncomfortable at the sudden attention, but offers her a tight smile.

"That's the goal," Emma replies weakly.

"The Savior saved me!" Grace seems so animated she may fall off the bed.

"Ah," Killian grins widely, unable to help it as he looks to Emma with warm eyes. "You're right, Grace. So if there's anyone who can get you back to your Da, it's Emma here."

If only the Savior could have been around to save small lads from the selfishness and callousness of fathers who sold them into slavery, but that's a separate concern. His face falls at the memory, despite himself.

Emma's mouth parts, seemingly at loss for words. She clears her throat once, then twice before managing to speak. "We can only help you if you go to sleep, though. Little girls have to have a lot of sleep to get help from the Savior, yeah?"

Her mouth still twists at the title of Savior, even after she's accepted the role. The burden of it - the excitement little children she's never met have over it - may be getting to her. He meets her eyes, briefly concerned, before she quickly and imperceptibly shakes her head.

"Okay," Grace nods, eager to comply with her orders. "Okay. Can you tell me a story? My papa always used to tell me stories before I went to sleep, said it helped keep nightmares away."

Killian beams at the suggestion, propping his back against the headboard beside her. "Aye, lass. I believe I can. Once upon a time, a pirate captain finished a very dangerous mission…"

He gives her a very, very abridged version of recent events, built up for grandiosity and emphasizing the heroism of the Savior. She's asleep in minutes.

"You're kind of a natural, at this," Emma admits with a grin, still leaning against the doorway. A few people bustle past her in the hallway, her back turned to them, but all she seems to notice is the scene the two of them make. It's only after a foul exclamation by a bar patron that she quickly shuts the door behind her. "See? That wasn't so bad."

Killian stands, then, careful not to jostle Grace's slumber as he does so. "Could have been much worse," he admits carefully.

She smiles fondly up at him as he ambles in front of her. "I think the story could have used more details of the pirate captain's good heart, though, as much as he may whine and complain and try and keep it hidden."

Killian grimaces. "Don't push it."

Emma rolls her eyes, but the gesture is far from malicious. "Wouldn't dream of it, Killian. After all, how would your fearsome reputation rebound?" When he doesn't reply - just groans - she motions to the door across the room. "Luckily for us, there's an adjoining room that our key should work on. We got here early enough, we got the rooms with the fancy connecting doors."

He chuckles, at that. "How fortunate for us, then."

Emma shrugs. "She could need help in the middle of the night, who knows. I know when Ingrid took me in after…" she cuts herself off, then, realizing quickly how much she's revealed. "Um, it could be useful."

She preoccupies herself with opening the door, quickly stepping through it before Killian's hand rests over hers on the doorknob. "Emma,"

Emma turns around, perplexed, to face him. "Hm? What's wrong."

"You don't have to," he stops himself, a little frustrated by his sudden inability to form words. "I know what it's like to be abandoned, Swan. You needn't censor yourself."

Her mouth parts, hand quickly retracting from under his. "I didn't…"

"Just thought I'd inform you," he says, following her through the door. His eyes flit around the room, then, quickly attempting to make the mood lighter for both of their comfort. "Ah, two beds. We truly did get a good deal then."

Emma exhales sharply, looking as if she's gotten whiplash from the sudden change of atmosphere. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess we did."

-/-

In her defense, the connecting door does come in handy. Especially when she can hear Grace in the next room in the middle of the night, crying out at what almost certainly is a nightmare.

"Hey," Emma coos carefully as she enters the room, moving Grace into her arms and rocking her lightly. None of this comes naturally for her, really, it's just a matter of watching what Killian does and remembering what the hell Ingrid did whenever they had kids over. "Hey, it's okay."

"My papa," the girl wails into her shoulder, her tears soaking through her shirt. "I miss him."

Killian walks into the room, then, clad only in leather pants and looking rather frenzied at the sound of crying. He rubs at his eyes, confused, but stares at them only for a minute before leaning against the doorway with a concerned expression.

"I know," Emma reassures her, her hand brushing through Grace's hair like Ingrid used to do to hers. "I know, kiddo. But we'll find him, alright? We will."

(She really, really, really hopes they will.)

"What if you don't?" Grace asks, peering up at Emma through bleary eyes. "What if you can't find him?"

Emma opens her mouth to reply, to say something definite and easy and to lift her spirits, but she can't find the words.

Killian walks over to the two of them, quickly sitting down on the other side of Grace. "Now, now, little love, if there's anyone who can find him it's the Savior, alright?"

"Yeah," Emma adds, voice wavering just a little. They could be giving her false hope and the thought makes her heart sink, but what choice do they really have? "We promised to help you, Grace. And we will."

That's a truthful statement, at least.

Grace nods, then, nuzzling against her shoulder. "Can you stay with me? I'm scared of going back to sleep and you said that little girls only get help from the Savior if they get a lot of sleep."

Emma laughs, a little, at her memory. "Of course," she murmurs affectionately, propping her back against the headboard as Grace scoots up next to her. She nuzzles into her shoulder and sighs before asking Killian for another story.

He chuckles, at that, propping his own back against the headboard as Emma drapes the quilt over the three of them. Killian goes on to tell a story about a brave little girl trying to get home and succeeding. Grace takes a little longer to fall asleep, but does all the same.

"You appear to be quite the natural, Swan," Killian grins lightly, looking up at her with his eyes sparkling.

Emma scoffs. "Yeah, okay. See if you say that when it comes to me and babies, if Ingrid had to heal whooping cough and a kid came through the door, even after she healed the kid it'd cry if I tried to hold it."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Trust me," Emma assures him, still keeping her voice in a hushed whisper. "My ears still haven't recovered. Babies? I can't do. But kids? Kids are like...miniature adults that I can handle."

"So the Savior doesn't get along with babies," Killian chides playfully, hand coming up to wrap a curl behind Grace's ear she she slumbers on Emma's shoulder. "Interesting, indeed."

"It's not that I don't get along with them," she grumbles. "They don't get along with me. I have nothing against them."

He chuckles, voice low and grinning fondly at the two of them. "This one seems to like you well enough."

Emma snorts, humming. "Yeah, like I said, I can handle miniature adults. Plus, I'm like a character from a story to her - the Savior. Hardly an argument for my kid-whispering skills."

"The Savior slays dragons," he points out, his head resting against hers as he nestles further into the bed. "I don't recall any stories of her comforting scared little girls."

"I've never slayed a dragon, first of all," Emma scoffs. "And you'd hardly be told those kinds of stories, would you?"

She considers moving back to bed and getting some more sleep, then. Emma moves her shoulder slightly, but it's no use. Grace is attached to her arm like a lifeline. Prying her off would mean waking her up and reliving the crying all over again. She groans softly and lets her head thunk against the headboard.

"I'd wager she isn't fond of letting you leave her side?" Killian supplies.

"She's spent days without her dad lost and alone in a shitty situation. I can't really blame her," Emma sighs, thinking of the way she used to cling to her would-be caretakers until she learned better. A life on the streets was unpredictable and dangerous, sure, but for a while there it seemed like a better option than infinite disappointment. This girl at least had a father out there, somewhere, and was lost rather than thrown out.

(Or so she hopes. Grace's father could have left her intentionally.)

Her arm tightens around the little girl unconsciously, frowning at the thought.

Killian must notice, if the way he furrow his expression is any indication. "What's the matter, love?"

She shouldn't even bring up the possibility. But she has to, doesn't she? "What if her dad isn't...what if he doesn't want to be found?"

Killian doesn't even blink. "Frankly, Swan, I'd be more surprised if he did."

Emma gapes, unable to help herself at his response. She tries to keep her voice in a whisper, the last thing she needs is for Grace to wake up during this conversation. "What the hell does that mean?"

His expression turns grim, less matter-of-fact. He folds his arms over himself, leaning away from the two of them as his expression furrows in thought and his eyes cloud with memories. "I'm saying it's a strong possibility her father abandoned her, Swan."

Emma opens her mouth to protest only to shut it once she realizes what kind of experiences must have led him to this conclusion. He never talks about his parents - Emma had assumed it was because he's apparently 200 years old - but the way he talks about abandoning fathers is too tinged with bitterness and recrimination to be a simple matter of outliving his parents.

The last thing she needs to do is pressure him about his history with a little girl currently using her as a human pillow.

So, Emma just sighs. "What are we supposed to do with her if that's the case? Take her with us as we go on life-threatening mission after life-threatening mission?"

He frowns in consideration. "Perhaps we could find a family willing to take her in."

"Who?"

That stumps him.

Grace shifts in her sleep, nuzzling further into Emma.

"We can talk about it in the morning," Emma sighs, adjusting herself into a slightly more comfortable position. "For now, let's try to get some sleep."

"Aye," Killian replies, his own back still pressed to the headboard. "Let's."

Emma looks at him, confused. "Don't you want to go back to bed? I think you could get away with it, unlike," she gestures to Grace attached to her shoulder, "me."

He shakes his head. "Already comfortable, love. Hardly makes sense to move."

His back is lodged against a wooden plank, so she's kind of doubting that. Still, she lets it go.

-/-

Killian wakes up, eyes bleary, to the sight of a little girl tugging at his pirate's luck, admiring the shine of it in the daylight and letting it jangle in her hands. He blinks, having trouble adjusting to the unfamiliar sight before simply chuckling at it. Grace freezes at the noise, quickly dropping his necklace and letting it hit his chest with a slight rattle.

"D'y'wanna wear it, lass?" his voice is slurred by sleep, but the tone is amused all the same.

She looks wide-eyed at the prospect. "Would you...would you let me?"

Killian takes his necklace from his neck with a grin, then, carefully draping it over her head as he sits up with her on his knees. "Aye. We could make quite the pirate out of you yet."

Grace laughs, at that, toying with the skull and crossbones. He's corrupting this poor little girl, he's sure, with such criminal imagery. Still, as long as the shiny object keeps her entertained, who is he to deny her?

Emma stirs next to them at the sound of laughter, her blonde hair ruffled by sleep and covering her face as she peers at the two of them. Her expression can only be described as bewilderment. She scrubs at her face, a valiant effort at waking up, before setting her head back on the pillow to gaze at the two of them. "You like Killian's taste in jewelry, hm?"

The words aren't said sardonically, but with a soft sort of amusement. Killian grins at her, moving his hand to brush back a long strand of hair that she missed when she pushed it back. She hums contentedly and his smile widens. Tired Emma is affectionate Emma, it seems. "I woke up and she was quite attached to it, I believe."

"She woke up before us then, hm?" Emma asks, her hand coming up to fiddle with the necklace around Grace's neck. Grace laughs, then, the sound light and airy. "I hope she didn't wake up too soon."

"I don't know," Killian teases, looking at Grace with a faux-stern expression. "Did you get enough sleep, lass? Or am I going to have to tell the Savior that you need to take a nap?"

Grace's eyes go wide as she feverently shakes her head. "I got a lot of sleep! I swear!"

Emma joins in, propping her chin on Killian's shoulder as she sits up to peer at Grace carefully. "I don't know, you could have woken up really early…"

"There are few things more important to the Savior than sleep," Killian adds solemnly. "We may have to torture the truth out of you."

He tickles at her sides, then, as Grace giggles madly at the show of it. Emma chuckles into his shoulder as Grace insists, "I swear, I got a lot of sleep!"

Killian retracts his hand with a heavy sigh, turning to Emma with the most serious expression he can muster (though his eyes are dancing and his lips are twitching). "Love, I do believe she's telling the truth."

"That's a relief," Emma doesn't even conceal her laughter, holding Grace's hand in hers. "I guess that means we should be getting going, soon."

"I suppose it does," he offers, face inches from hers.

She exhales sharply, seeming to remember herself as she stands up. "Right. I'm gonna go get our stuff together and we can get moving."

"Right," he adds, unconvincingly, as Grace stares at the two of them curiously. "We can do that."

-/-

They start a trek to the next village, then, which Killian insists will only take hours. He's traversed in this kingdom enough, he knows the ins and outs of every corner of it.

(Except where the healer's cottage in Emma's village was, evidently.)

"Luckily for both of you," Killian hums, trudging forward. Grace is sitting atop his shoulders. She complained of her feet hurting early on and, well, he offered his services rather quickly. Convincing her to take off the pirate's luck was enough of a task. Forcing her to walk on bruised feet was a much less necessary evil. "I know a shortcut. We should be there well before nightfall."

Emma walks beside the both of them, eyeing the stretch of forest in front of them for any trace of guards. With Killian out of commision thanks to the small child on top of him, she's going to have to do most - all, really - of the fighting.

Grace looks around curiously at the path. "Wait! I live near here!"

Killian raises his eyebrows. "You do? I thought you got lost at the market, little lass."

"I did," she insists, again. "But I recognize this. I think I can get home from here."

As if either of them are going to let a little girl walk through a forest because it's apparently near her father's house. Killian and Emma exchange dubious looks. "Yeah," Emma replies bluntly. "We're not letting you go alone."

Grace frowns, looking down at Emma from her perch on Killian's shoulders. "Why would you? My papa is very serious about security."

Well, okay.

That, they can deal with.

-/-

Sure enough, they get to an estate after a few hours of following Grace's directions. The sight of the trail seemed to be enough for her to remember and Killian, for all his travels, wonders how on earth he managed to overlook a large plot like this. Then again, the house isn't even visible thanks to hedges that extend over their heads in sheer height. Even Grace on Killian's shoulders must be unable to see much at all. All they can see is a deep, dark green that seems to extend endlessly. "Your father fond of gardening, lass?"

"It zigzags," Grace replies, as if this is sufficient explanation.

"So," Emma says, trying and failing to sound conversational "Your father's house is literally in a maze."

The girl frowns, nearly toppling over Killian's shoulders before he catches her. "Papa doesn't want the guards to bother him."

"So he's an an enemy of the queen," Killian supplies with a sigh.

"Why are you disappointed?" Emma asks, befuddled. "That's a good sign for us. He's an enemy of the queen, we're an enemy with the queen..."

"It means this maze is going difficult to get through," he summarizes with a groan. "The Evil Queen is the most powerful sorceress in the land, love. Anything that kept her out would have to be the Underworld on earth."

"I know some things," Grace offers with a tiny shrug, absentmindedly playing with the hair on top of Killian's head. It's sticking up in places, now, and he can feel the unnatural way its setting on his scalp. He can't find it in himself to be annoyed. "I could help, I've seen Papa do it enough. The riddles and how to avoid the snakes..."

"Riddles?"

"Snakes?"

Killian's voice shamefully raises an octave at the thought of serpents nipping at his ankles.

"You're afraid of snakes?" Emma asks, raising her eyebrows. "Seriously?"

"They're frequently poisonous," he explains with a grimace.

"And guards are frequently lethal," she points out, cocking her head to the side. "Yet you aren't afraid of them."

Killian scowls. "You deal with the dam- you deal with the serpents, then," he grumbles, barely correcting himself in time to shield the girl on his shoulders from his language. "Luckily, I'm rather fond of riddles. And mazes, for that matter. Pirates are known for their sense of direction, love."

"I wasn't aware there was a map," she says dryly, taking the first step into the maze.

"A true pirate," Killian grunts as he steps forward, entering the maze with some trepidation. "Can rely on only his sense for navigation. You sure it's safe for us to bring you along with us?"

Grace nods. Perhaps it was a stupid question - what other choice did they have? "My papa did it all of the time. I was on his shoulders when he did it, too."

It is a sentence that brings some relief.

Grace remembers most of the way, anyway. They manage to avoid most dead ends and evade or take on the creatures that hide within the maze.

"There's a big monster in those bushes," Grace leans down to whisper in Killian's ear, tugging at his earring just a tad. "My papa always-"

Emma has run a sword through it - a roughly reptilian looking creature - before young Grace has the opportunity to quite finish her sentence.

"He always just knocked it out," Grace says, deflated, as Emma brushes her sword against the bushes in an attempt to get the blood off of it.

"Sorry," Emma replies unconvincingly, grimacing at a particularly stubborn stain. "Fast reflexes. Ugly looking thing comes charging, I stab. I just wonder what's slowing down Killian's reflexes. He _is_ old enough to be everyone's great-great-grandfather, so maybe..."

"Oi!" Killian protests good-naturedly. "I'm in a bit of a conundrum with a child using me as a means of transportation."

"Sounds like a grandpa thing, doesn't it?" Emma teases lightly. He pinches her side, just to spite her, grinning victoriously as he knows full well she can't well retribute with Grace on his shoulders.

Emma glares at him, for a moment, until they step forward in the bushes. "See if I let the snakes get your delicate ankles, Killian. Just see."

(She doesn't, for the record, but she does let one get really close to his feet before she stabs it just inches from him.)

(Her apology is not at all convincing.)

The riddles, Grace assures them, are last. It's fitting that the end is a grand sphinx statue blocking the way, presumably _their_ way, out.

"The riddles change, though," Grace explains, her voice sounding concerned. "So I don't know the answer."

"We're relying just on our wits, hm?" Killian murmurs, sounding not at all discouraged. "I do love puzzles."

Emma snorts before jolting at a sudden sound.

The stone sphinx opens its mouth eerily, its booming voice filtering through the maze. "My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings, Lords of the earth their luxury and ease. Another view of man, my second brings, Behold him there, the monarch of the seas."

Emma looks at the thing as if it's grown a second head. "Um, I'm assuming this is the riddle?"

"Yes," Grace answers.

"Where does he even get this stuff?" Emma grumbles, shaking her head.

"He knows a lot of people," Grace says, as if that's any explanation.

Emma crosses her arms as she looks over to Killian. "Any ideas, riddle master?"

"Let's see," he hums, tapping at his chin. "First part - wealth and pomp displayed...sounds like court, doesn't it? I've suffered through enough of Regina's. The second I'm almost insulted at - monarch of the seas? That's a ship if I've ever heard one. Combine the two and the answer is courtship, of course."

Now Emma is staring at him as if _he's_ grown a second head. "How - you know what, nevermind. I'm not going to ask."

"Centuries of experience," he goads as the sphinx moves out of the way, permitting a view of a small cottage that belies the grandiosity of the maze. Killian kneels down to permit Grace to get off his shoulders, waiting for her to stand before he does. "This your home, correct?"

"Correct," she nods, beaming. "I wonder where Papa is-"

"Grace," a frenetic, wild-haired man exclaims as collapses to his knees with relief, crying out her name as she races towards him. He embraces her as soon as he can, lifting her up and tightening his arms around her. "Gracie, I was so worried about you, you have no idea. I just came back to try and see if you found your way home, I've been tearing apart the village-"

"It's okay," the girl manages to get out, her arms tight around her father's neck. "The Savior found me!"

He looks up at Emma and Killian, who are just paces behind the father and child. Emma offers a meek shrug. "Um, hi?"

-/-

After a - slightly, Emma swears, even if her eyes welled up with a little bit of tears - emotional goodbye to Grace and fierce denial of any compensation for finding her from her father Jefferson, they head back to the inn to continue their search. Jefferson said he regretted he couldn't be any help to them when it came to any recent information on Regina, swearing it's been years since he's seen her and they weren't exactly on the best terms. A hatmaker, the man apparently could create portals with the right magic. After Regina backed out on a deal with him to get his daughter back, he took the matter into his own hands and ran like hell.

(A sentiment that Killian grumbles he can relate to.)

They're about dead when they get back to the inn, though, practically holding each other up as they get within sight of it.

"You're shivering," Killian points out, not for the first time, as he opens the door to allow her through. She's grateful they had the foresight to pay for two nights. "Swan, you really need a coat."

"I'm fine," she waves him off, trudging through the front door and towards the room - ignoring the looks the innkeeper gives them. They paid for two nights for one room and paid for one night for Grace's. They still, unfortunately, have work to do in this village. "I can handle a little cold, Killian. I'll survive just fine."

He frowns as he holds the second door - the one to their room - open for her.

"What time is it?" Emma groans as soon as she's in the room, collapsing on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. "Honestly, mazes are the worst."

"Only a few hours past dusk," he answers studiously, looking a little exhausted himself. "The maze wasn't that bad, was it? With the little lass' assistance, we managed just fine."

"We'd be snake food if she wasn't old enough to remember it, though. Like I said," Emma mutters, wiping at her eyes in an attempt to starve off her sleep-blurred vision. "I'm the worst with babies. If she wouldn't been a few years younger, kid would have been screwed."

"Ah," he replies at that, a fond grin on his lips. "And I suppose villagers - once this is all said and done - won't be handing their children over to the Savior for her to bless then, eh?"

"Bless?" Emma asks, face scrunching. "Who said anything about blessing?"

"You're practically a revered saint, Swan. The people love you," Killian snorts, shaking his head as he sits down on the bed beside her. His boots make a soft thumping noise on the wooden floor when he kicks them off. "They'll be bringing you their crops to ensure a full harvest as if you were Demeter herself."

"The people love false stories of me as That One Person Who Is Going to Overthrow A Murderer. It's not personal. Plus, it's not like Regina has been overthrown yet. If she ever will be," Emma says, considering his words. "Besides, I hate being the center of attention, anyway."

"You don't seem to like much attention at all placed upon you, do you," he says thoughtfully, as if he's carefully weighing the words.

Emma sighs. "Nope."

"I have to do something," he says, quickly toeing on his boots.

Emma frowns. "What?"

Killian laces his boots up pretty skillfully for a guy with only one hand. "Ah, you'll see."

She still doesn't know what the hell is going on when he leaves.

-/-

Emma doesn't sleep as she waits about an hour for him to come back. She sits up when she hears the door latch open, meeting his eyes as he grins. He's holding something behind his back, she can tell. "What the hell are you doing?"

Killian puts his hand in front of him to hold up a long, deep red leather coat with an expectant look at her.

Emma's expression furrows at the sight of it. "Um, did you decide on a wardrobe change? The black not doing enough for you?"

He sighs with a fond smile, shaking his head. "No, lass. I had a very loud complaint with that clothing store owner, see, apparently he's been losing business. I talk about how I'm the third cousin of the queen and suddenly he was feeling quite charitable and regretful about his harsh words towards the two of us."

"What the hell does that have to do with the coat?" Emma asks, confused. "What, you conned him into giving you a free one?"

Killian grins, letting the jacket sway in his hand a bit. " _You_ a free one, it's a tad too small for me and weighs about half as much as mine. And I didn't steal it."

Emma softens as he brings it up for her to examine, fingers skimming along the leather as she looks up at him. "Why?"

"You were cold," he says, as if this is the most natural explanation in the world to coercing a shop owner into handing over a coat for his fake fiancee slash actual traveling companion.

She gapes at him, for a minute. "You didn't have to."

He averts his eyes quickly, switching the coat into his false hand as his real one hand comes to scratch behind his ear. His face turns slightly red. "It was nothing, love. Bad form to let the Savior freeze, is all."

The corners of her lips turn up at his words as she gazes up at him, He eventually meets her eyes, again, still looking a bit embarrassed. He sighs exaggeratedly, draping the coat over her shoulders. "It's a tad short, I'm afraid, I didn't get the chance to get your measurements quite right, but-"

"Thank you," she says sincerely, holding the collar of it with her thumb and forefinger as she peers down at it. It looks as if it'll end right around her mid-thigh, which seems about right for her. Sturdy but light and protective but not constraining. "It's perfect, Killian."

"Should keep you warm, at least," he hums as she gently sets it down on the beside table, laying back down.

"You really didn't have to," she points out for the second time.

"I know," he answers, voice sure and steady. "I wanted to."

They fall asleep in their respective beds. Still, the warmth she feels when she falls asleep that night has nothing to do with the coat on the table.


	7. Armor

_**A/N: Hey, hope you're having a good Wednesday! Cue me saying this was a fun chapter to write (it was). Honestly, the response to this fic has just blown me away again and again. I feel so overwhelmed and grateful and I just want to hug all of you? So, I hope you like this chapter and it makes you feel a fraction as good as your amazing reviews and feedback do!**_

 _ **Thanks to Amber and Ella for tolerating me, translating my words into intelligible sentences, etc. I would be so lost without them.**_

-/-

"Another day," Emma sighs, lifting a small glass of rum over the table at the tavern. "Another village searched for a glimpse of a person you saw years ago that hopefully has an idea of where we can find a magic box."

This is their life, now.

"Well, when you say it like that," Killian replies dryly. His glass clinks against hers before he brings it to his lips. "It sounds a bit like a ludicrous scheme. Not that you'd be wrong, of course, but…"

The burn of the rum down her throat is, at least, a slight distraction from their continued failure at the task that may be completely pointless if the woman has fled the kingdom altogether. They've only been to a small number of villages, sure, but it doesn't do wonders for morale to nuzzle against each other for show to every damn shopkeeper in sight with no results to show for it.

(That wasn't exactly true - they'd once gotten the result of being tied up in a cellar and nearly killed.)

(Aurora wasn't bad at all in the long run, sure, but still.)

"But we just have to keep trudging on," Emma surmises, her head slumping to rest in her hand, her elbow propped up on the table and her hair falling into her face.

Killian's eyes move from his drink to her weary face, his gaze curious and soft. She was expecting irritation and exasperation, given the circumstances, but he just nods. "Aye," he murmurs, gently lifting the hair out of her face. "We do."

His hand lingers on the curve of her jaw, but the sound of shouting at the bar quickly makes them break apart. Their heads swivel from each other to two men at the bar - donned in the black armor of Regina's guards - having an argument between themselves. They press their heads back down, then, determined to draw as little attention as possible.

"I'm just saying," one of them says, voice loud with inebriation. "The queen wants us to find needles in haystacks! And those needles - incidentally - kill us before we get close enough to kill them!"

It's always fantastic, Emma thinks, to have your conversation interrupted by people plotting to kill you.

"Hush," the other reprimands, looking around the tavern surreptitiously. His eyes don't linger on the two of them, thankfully, it seems it's more paranoia of the queen influencing him than suspicion that the very people they're hunting could hear them. "It hardly bodes well for us to rebuke the orders of Regina."

"You better hope the queen's plan to capture the Savior works," the guard snorts derisively, downing his drink with one gulp. "Otherwise, all of us are royally screwed, Robert. Her patience is wearing thin enough as is. If those two don't kill us, she will."

"I know," Robert replies gruffly, staring holes into his drink and contemplating it. He makes a stark contrast to his companion, small and lean rather than big and bulky. He's taciturn rather than boisterous, Emma has to really make an effort to hear a word he's saying. "The men lucky enough to survive exchanges with the pirate and the Savior aren't...spared the queen's disappointment."

"I suppose by that you mean they're brutally beheaded."

Robert winces. "What makes you think this will work, Matthew?"

Matthew shrugs lackadaisically. "It means the queen tells us to do something and we do it. We can only hope that Sta-"

Another guard comes rushing into the tavern, at that. Emma and Killian duck their heads a little more and she wraps her arm around his in an effort to look more inconspicuous at their spot in the corner of the tavern. The new arrival pays them no mind, however, preoccupied with whatever urgent matter is at hand.

"Men!" he barks, gesturing to the two of them at the bar. They both straighten, at that. "Back to your posts! You know how Graham feels about daydrinking, eh?"

The men grumble, but follow him out of the door quickly. Emma and Killian exchange looks, both concerned by the conversation they just overheard.

"We have to figure out what their plan is," Emma whispers, lifting her head up and removing her arm from his. "If the queen has some sort of grand master plan-"

"I know Regina," Killian says brusquely. "Believe me, love, planning is hardly her forte. Her ego is the sole propellor of her accomplishments."

"Well," Emma groans with a shrug. "I don't think it'll work out too well for us if we just sit back and wait for whatever she's planning to bite us in the ass."

"Then what are you proposing?" Killian asks, brow furrowing in confusion.

Emma frowns, cocking her head to the side in contemplation. She stands, then, walking to the exit of the tavern and gesturing for Killian to follow her. He does, still baffled, but it's not until they get out in the cool night air that she offers any sort of explanation.

She glances around, just to verify there are no guards around, before she continues walking towards the inn (it's always more convenient when villages have inns attached to taverns, Emma swears) with Killian at her heels. "Obviously no guard would tell either of us if we asked what the plan was."

"Clearly," Killian replies flatly. "I reckon it would defeat the purpose to tell the very people you're trying to entrap what your trap is."

"Right," Emma says, wrapping her coat a little tighter around herself. "But what if they didn't tell...us per se?"

This doesn't help Killian's confusion as he stills in the middle of the street. "Then who would they tell?"

Emma grimaces, trying to think of a less convoluted way to explain it as she stills beside him. She turns around to face him, attempting to alleviate the pinching of his face with some clarity. "What if it was one of us, but they didn't know that? What if one of us sort of...infiltrated their ranks?"

It clicks for him, then. "You're suggesting pretending to be guards? I'll admit, it wouldn't be the first time I've donned armor to deceive a few bloody prats-"

"You know a lot of guards, right?" Emma offers wryly, looking over to him.

He bristles. "Hardly like I'm friendly with them, given they're constantly attempting to violently kill me or at the very least send me to my death at the far from merciful hands of their queen."

"You used to work for Regina. If there were a hoard of them, chances are there'd be one that would recognize you," Emma continues. "Usually, if there's one in the street who looks at you sort of suspiciously we can duck away or get them alone before anything goes catastrophically wrong, but if you're trying to go undercover..." she grimaces. "That's kind of an obstacle."

Killian frowns. "What are you proposing? Should I don a disguise?"

Emma raises her eyebrows. "I think there's another person who'd be able to do the job without one."

"Who-" Killian stills, realizing what she's implying. "Oh."

"I'd point at myself, just to drive it home further, but I don't think it's necessary at the moment," Emma comments, cocking her head to the side.

"You want to pose as a guard?" he asks dubiously, drawing his flask out from his pocket at they continue to walk.

"Can't be that hard," Emma sighs. "Just try and fail to kill people a bunch of times, wear ugly armor, and - boom - you're set."

"While not inaccurate, necessarily," he wheezes, nearly sputtering out his rum as he lifts his flask up to drink from it. "I wonder the dangers of leaving the Savior with men intent on killing her."

"How can they if they don't know who she is?" Emma challenges.

"And if they find out?"

"How can they if they don't even know what I look like?"

He sighs, then, the sound coming out of him in a harsh exhale. Emma knows she's won.

"There are very few women on the guard," Killian comments, scratching at his beard as he thinks. "You'd have difficulty blending in."

Emma shrugs, grabbing his flask and taking a swig from it. His eyebrows raise at the move, but he doesn't comment on it. "Fine. Then I won't blend in."

-/-

It's been awhile since the two of them have fought with their swords. He's kind of missed it, he has to admit. Though the first time was admittedly far too serious and more of a pleading on his part for her to reason with him and accept his help, this is far more playful. Their sparring is about evenly matched, every time she steps back, he steps forward and every time he swipes, she ducks.

He's a bit worried when his sword comes perilously close to her throat as he swings it, but she ducks just in time, arching her back against his arm and laughing. "Are you feeling a little out of practice, Captain?"

The morning after their conversation about Emma posing as a guard, she insists that they practice sparring. It's for believability, she claims, saying that if they're to fight in front of the guards and prove her credence as a warrior for the queen that they may as well make it look like a good match.

"Hardly," he says, resisting laughter himself. "Just want to avoid slicing your head clean off, is all."

"Probably a good call," she replies, still beaming as she leans back up until they're flush together. "Though I wonder…"

His hook wrenches her sword away from near his arm before she can even think about it, raising his eyebrow in a clear challenge. "Wonder what, exactly?"

She grins mischievously, stepping back for a moment and leaving him confused. She full-on tackles him, then, knocking the wind out of him as she sits astride him, sword to his neck. "Yup. Knew it. Your knees were locked, makes it easier for you to keel over."

He wheezes. "I taught you that, as I recall."

Emma shrugs, unconcerned, as she carefully puts her sword back in its sheath. "And I learned it pretty well, didn't I?"

Killian laughs, the sound nearly breathless. She joins in, unable to help herself as her body wracks with laughter that may soon well turn to tears. Which it does and the air knocks out of her lungs as she dissolves into chortles that manifest into wetness on her cheeks. He composes himself, at that, nearly descending to that level of mirth himself before he takes a few calming breaths. She's still chuckling, even as her head collapses on his chest with hiccups.

"It wasn't," she manages as his hand combs through her hair before resting at the small of her back, feeling the new leather of her coat under his fingertips. "It wasn't even that funny, it's just…"

Killian lifts his hand to wipe the tear tracks from her eyes as she looks up at him. He finishes her sentence for her, then. "Everything has descended into madness and we have to take our moments of levity when we can?"

"Yeah," Emma manages, swallowing as both of their expressions turn a little more serious. His eyes search hers, for a moment, eyeing the way they flicker down to his lips every-so-often. They're only inches apart, his hooked arm wrapped around her and his real one resting on the small crevice at the bottom of her chin. She exhales, sitting up on his lap as his hands fall back to his sides. "Taking what we can get, I guess."

She stands, then, offering him her hand as he gets up to join her. They survey their surroundings carefully, back to business in a matter of seconds.

"So, we said noon?" Emma asks, hand shielding her eyes as she looks near the sun. They'd left a written message to the guards on top of one of their posts, posing as a bounty hunter who had suddenly gotten his lucky hands on Captain Hook.

"Aye," he nods, picking up his sword from the ground and sheathing it. "They should trudge through here at any moment. The bounty hunter promised Captain Hook, after all," he winks at her. She, mercifully, doesn't comment on how he can't perform the action without closing both eyes.

(Last time, she had the nerve to tell him it was endearing. Endearing, as if that's remotely complementary to a cutthroat pirate of the seven seas.)

"Just have to add the armor," Emma grins, motioning to the black armor they've stolen from one of the smaller guards, resting on the ground just feet away. It fits well enough and is mercifully free from blood stains. "And we should be set."

"Speaking of," Killian says, gently tugging on her arm so that she'll face him. "We haven't quite discussed how we'll check in on each other, given the circumstances."

Emma frowns. "You mean how you'll check in on me."

"You'll be quite literally surrounded by people who want you dead," Killian replies, attempting to sound matter-of-fact. By the expression on Emma's face - the defensiveness gradually turning to softness - he can tell he hasn't quite fully masked his concern. "Forgive me for wishing to make sure they don't get what they want."

Her other hand falls on his, then, where it rests on her arm. She squeezes it, once. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd miss having me around," she teases lightly, her green eyes looking even lighter in the sun.

"Bugger off," he mutters, but the words have no bite. His gaze goes to his boots, then, before he musters the nerve to meet her eyes again. "It's not that I don't trust you in being able to handle yourself, far from it. I just can't stand the thought of-"

He stops himself, then, the words stubbornly sticking to the inside of his throat.

Emma's thumb runs over the back of his hand, then, as her eyes remain firmly set on his. He thinks she may understand without him having to say it.

"I'd be the same way," she replies. The weight of her words aren't lost on him. Before he can open his mouth again, she retreats. Her hand falls and she takes a step back, her eyes flitting across the clearing instead of focusing on him. "If I'm not back in a few days, then you can start worrying."

Killian frowns. "In a few days you could be well-past dead."

"The same could be true for a few hours or minutes," Emma replies grimly.

He grimaces, but accepts it nonetheless. "And if I worry?"

"Then you should continue without me," Emma continues, as if the words are inconsequential. "Try to find the tattoo woman, or whatever. If I can't defeat Regina, you should be able to."

That isn't an answer he's receptive to. "Like hell I will," he retorts, eyes narrowing. "If I don't hear from you, I'm going after you."

"No, you won't."

"Yes," he emphasizes, crowding into her space with how truly angry he is at the insinuation that he's to leave her behind to rot if there's any chance of saving her. "I will."

Emma curses under her breath, rolling her eyes. "Fine," she mutters, kicking the dirt under her feet for good measure. "If I'm not back in a day or two, I can't stop you from coming after me. I can only vehemently encourage you that what I would want is for you to go on with this mission whether I'm on it or not."

"That's assuming I'd have any reason to," Killian spits out derisively. By the way her face goes slack at the statement, he knows he's said too much.

Emma squeezes her eyes shut, balling her hands into fists. She exhales, slowly, in an attempt to taper off her temper. Her reply, which she says after a few moments of stiff silence, surprises him. "I guess I can't blame you. If the roles were reversed…"

It's his turn to turn dumbstruck at the implication of what she has almost said.

"Anyway," Emma says brusquely, picking up the armor on the ground. "I'm going to put this on. We're going to fight. I'm going to find out whatever the hell Regina is planning and I'm going to come back to you and we'll figure it out from there, okay?"

"Alright," he nods his assent, at loss to do much of anything else. "You know where to find me, once this is over. And then we'll decipher what to do next together."

"Together," Emma repeats, nodding.

-/-

When the guards do come, they're sparring. Killian looks every bit the pirate, from the earrings to the calculated jabs of his sword. Emma finds it kind of a pain in the ass to fight with all the armor, but she manages nonetheless, meeting his every strike with a retaliatory one of her own.

Emma whirls around to face the new arrivals and Killian takes the opportunity to run. It's just as planned. By the time her eyes go back to where Killian is supposed to be, he's already gone, and the guards merely stand dumbstruck at the display in front of them.

Emma takes off the helmet, letting her long hair fall out as she does so. The men stare at her and gape. "Look at that, you fools! You just let him get away!"

"Who are you?" one asks, his voice baffled.

She glares at him, trudging up to him and holding her sword to his throat. "Your superior, you arrogant jackass. Regina saw just how incompetent you all have become, failing her in a task as simple as catching two complete disasters running around the kingdom," her mouth sets into a hard line, stance widening to seem more authoritative. She hisses the next words to the guard, making him squirm uncomfortably. "Even negotiating deals with bounty hunters, as if they can do the job more competently than the queen's guard should be able to! I sliced the greedy son of a bitch's throat in front of the pirate to give him a taste of what was coming next a few paces west. I nearly had the pirate myself until you complete _fucking failures_ of men ruined it for me."

They still seem bewildered, though intimidated.

"You're Lilly?" Another guard with an accented voice asks curiously, taking his helmet off to reveal curly brown hair on a younger face.

"Yes," she answers, decisively. Whoever Lilly was, Emma guessed she needed to be her. "I'm Lilly. That means you take my orders from here on out, you understand?"

His expression furrows. "I'm not understanding. Regina said that she sent you to another village to deal with a -"

She shushes him, then, shoving her finger in his face. "I'm here now because you all can't do your damn jobs. This time, we won't fail. The pirate and the Savior will both end up dead or in custody of the queen. Understood?"

They share uncomfortable looks among themselves, eyeing each other with disbelief.

The curly haired one, seemingly the leader, clears his throat. "I think we understand. Name's Graham, Commander."

"Well, then, Graham," she drawls his name out as if it's an irritance just for it to leave her lips. "Looks like we're back to square one. Let's head back, recuperate from the disaster, and maybe not be such disappointments the next time."

"We could chase after him-" another guard offers.

Emma whirls around to face him as if he's gone insane. "You want to do that? Be my guest. I wish you all the luck in the world in chasing after him but, see, the rest of us have learned by now that that strategy hasn't exactly been working for us!"

Emma isn't used to bossing people around like this, truthfully. Part of her finds it wildly entertaining and another part of her's skin crawls. Her throat might start to hurt with all the yelling, though.

(Here's hoping no one knows what Lilly looks like, then.)

-/-

It takes hours for them to trudge back to the village's nearest jail and the guards' resting place, but luckily it seems apparent that no one actually _does_ know what Lilly looks like. Which works out perfectly for Emma, as she barks out orders for the men to plot their next move. Emma swears aloud that the Savior and Captain Hook must be in the next village over. Killian is in the opposite direction of what she's saying, currently, so that will work out just fine.

"I know what I'm doing," she insists, turning to face the dozen or so men that make up the patrol of this village once they make it to their destination. "Under my direction, we'll find the criminals and bring glory to the queen's name."

(A sour taste presents itself in her mouth, but she swallows it nonetheless.)

"Then why haven't you succeeded?" one of the men challenge.

Emma gapes, slapping him with all her might. She nearly winces with the motion, but this is the sort of thing Regina would do, isn't it? "This is how you treat your superiors, hm? No wonder you can't get anything done, there's not a hint of respect," she spits on the ground, as if that will add to the point. Maybe it does. "Not a hint of respect here."

"I'm here to obey your orders," the man grits out, his hand coming up to the redness blossoming on his cheek. Emma feels guilty, but masks her expression quickly.

They must be remarkably used to taking criticism. Everytime she thinks she may have gone too far, they only blink at her. Regina's influence really had to be something else. Graham, the apparent leader of the men for reasons she doesn't quite understand, just looks straight ahead as if he's disconnected from his body. Emma frowns.

At that, another man enters the room, a tray in his hands.

"What are you doing?" Emma barks out, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Erm," he freezes, looking from her to the men. "Who are you?"

"I'm Lilly," Emma sets her hands on her hips. "I'm here to command you at the queen's orders. Now answer my question."

He looks to the men for approval, but they only stare at him. "I'm bringing a meal to the prisoner, m'am."

"I can do it," Emma says forcefully, taking the tray herself. "As if I can trust any of you to do anything, at this rate."

They let her go without much noise.

She finds the dungeon just fine, ducking down the stairs and carrying the food in her hands. She's curious about who the hell they could be keeping, here. Phillip the other guards kept because of a personal grudge. Killian and Emma were only kept for a short period of time before breaking out - and they were meant to be transferred to the queen the next day. The woman who Emma sees in the cell here - brown hair and brown eyes looking up curiously at the new face - she has no idea about.

Emma slides her the tray under the bars, uncertain of what else to do.

"Who the hell are you?" the woman asks derisively, eyeing her with suspicion. Emma is wearing the armor of a guard, but her head remains uncovered. It's easy to tell she isn't a familiar face.

"I could ask the same of you," Emma intones. She's sure she should punish her for her insolence, but it's not as if there's anyone else here to make sure she's being cruel. The Regina act would work fine for the men. For prisoners? It was unnecessary.

The woman narrows her eyes. "I doubt you care."

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," she offers, crossing her arms.

"Marian," she answers brusquely. "Now who are you - the newest recruit?"

"I'm Lilly," Emma introduces herself, trying the foreign name on her tongue. "And no, I'm here to make sure these guys are doing their jobs."

"How noble," Marian scoffs. "Your parents must be proud."

Well, that was the goal.

"Why do they keep you here?" Emma asks curiously, though she knows this is hardly the kind of thing that a typical guard would ask. She doubts Marian will rat her out, though, given the circumstances. "Usually they just kill dissenters, you'd have to really piss them off just to get them to keep you here."

"To torture me before they transfer me to Regina for my real punishment," Marian rolls her brown eyes, scoffing. "Just as I'm sure you want to do."

"You shouldn't make assumptions," Emma hums, sitting down beside her cell. "You don't know me."

"Don't I?" Marian challenges, raising her chin defiantly.

"No," Emma says, frowning. "You don't."

"I know the guards and I know that they've been brainwashed into being the puppets Regina wants them to be," Marian surmises. "And I know the Savior sure as hell isn't coming to save me, so I get by on just pissing her off. And by that, pissing all of you off."

"Is it working?" Emma asks, matter-of-factly. "How did you end up here in the first place?"

"I've been here for a few days," Marian replies, seemingly at loss for anything else to do other than talk to one of her captors. "They got me for defending Snow White's name, of all things."

It would be out of character for Emma to thank her, in this situation, but maybe she can later.

(Breaking someone out wouldn't be the hardest thing to do, once she's out of here.)

"What are _you_ doing here?" Marian asks curiously, skeptically eyeing Emma. "You hardly seem like the type of person to get in a profession like this."

"Why, because I'm not a man?" Emma supplies.

"That," Marian shrugs. "And you're Graham-esque."

Emma's expression furrows. "What do you mean, Graham-esque?"

"You're not that big of an asshole, is what I'm saying. That's based on limited information, but that's the feeling I get. Just following orders more than an avid interest in cruelty," Marian frowns. "I'm not sure which is worse."

It's a lot to think about.

-/-

It would be suspicious to stay and talk to Marian, Emma reasons, so she only lingers a few minutes before going back upstairs. When she does, the men are bickering amongst themselves. Aside from Graham, of course, who just seems utterly disconnected.

"What the hell is going on?" Emma asks, crossing her arms as she takes in the scene in front of her. Trying to emulate Regina's cruelty is draining, to say the least.

They don't even turn around to face her, which is shocking for men previously so devoted to her every order. They're arguing over something she can hardly understand - she gets glimpses of 'wife' and 'children' and realizes they're trying to determine who gets to come home to their family for the night and who has to go out to patrol.

"You have any family, Lilly?" Graham asks, his voice flat.

"Not around here," Emma answers shortly. "Why?"

"You should rest," he says, rapidly changing subjects. "There's a few beds we keep upstairs for the queen's traveling guards. If you truly wish to capture those two, you'll have to wait until morning."

"But-" a protest is at her lips, she wanted to be in and out of here by the night with the information it took to figure out whatever Regina's plan is.

"It's nightfall," Graham sighs. This is the first time he's defied her, tonight, and it comes off less like insolence and more like weariness. "You won't get much else out of these men, now."

She accepts this, reluctantly, praying that Killian doesn't burst in tomorrow demanding to know where she is because he thinks she's been found out. "Fine."

The men are still arguing when she walks upstairs. It's odd, to say the least, to think of the people committing horrific crimes as fathers and husbands. Sure, she's known a few guards back in her village who were capable of some degree of kindness, but the contrast of those same men hungering to have her dead and then worrying about tucking their kids in is a little much.

John, the guard who nearly killed her but decided not to the night she found out she was the Savior, at least gave up as soon as his heart caught up with his orders. With these men, Emma isn't sure they ever will.

It's a terrible thought, but one she finds herself unable to bury.

-/-

It's dark and it's late when Killian stumbles into the tavern of the village he promised Emma he'd be in, intent on not worrying about what could or couldn't be happening to her at the moment. Drinking, he reasoned, would help. Rum could serve as potent as the most powerful forgetfulness potion, when enough of it was ingested, so Killian reasons he'll do just that.

He can wait for her, he reasons. Killian owes her this much.

(Even if he's terrified that the men she's surrounded by will soon kill her. He promised her a day. A day she was going to get.)

He sneaks behind the bar to replenish his supply of rum in his flask when the bartender's back is turned, then sits down and begins taking heavy swigs of it.

"Rough night?" a gruff voice next to him asks, leaning over until he's far too close for comfort.

Killian doesn't so much as turn his head. "Bugger off, mate. Not in the mood for conversation."

The voice tuts. "That's hardly a way to greet an old friend, Captain."

"Starkey," Killian says in realization, recognizing his former crewmember with a jolt as his eyes fall on him. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"I think the better question is to ask what you're doing here, Captain," he replies gruffly, eyes flitting up to meet his. He looks bored, lounging against the bar, and Killian knows it's a mannerism he's learned from him. It looks pitifully feigned, so he clearly hasn't mastered it like Killian has over the years.

"Hardly any of your business, now is it?" Killian asks in turn, raising his eyebrows. "I reckon I spelled it out quite clearly that we were to part ways."

"And abandoned the men who never abandoned you," Starkey huffs in disbelief.

"I gave you the choice," Killian grits out. "You didn't need to stick around for Neverland, nor did you need to join my crew in the first place. You chose this life, mate."

Starkey huffs. "Believe me, I regret going to Neverland every damn day. And if it weren't for y-"

"You did because you were too cowardly to say no to me," Killian rolls his eyes. "Perhaps I'm thankful to see at least this, of all things, has changed."

"And you have changed the most drastically," Starkey mutters. "I always knew you were a selfish prick, though at least around Milah you were-"

Killian cuts him off, again, white hot anger searing in his veins. " _Don't_ say her name."

"Why?" Starkey retorts in disbelief, his voice rising. "Does it make you feel guilty for not getting justice for her sooner? For forsaking that in favor of running around aiding a woman who claims to be the Savior? For as many times as your attentions have been compromised by women, this is a new low for you."

A dark look crosses Killian's face."You shouldn't speak of things you know nothing about."

"Does it make you feel guilty? What, you're abandoning everything we worked for to help the Savior?" his voice is drenched with sarcasm, sounding disbelieving. "Bloody brilliant, Captain. Who are you and what have you done to the Captain Hook I know?"

Hook grits his teeth, seething at the criticism. He's angry because he's right and he's furious because he's wrong. He isn't Captain Hook, not really, anymore. He's not even sure if he's Captain Jones. Killian isn't the cut-throat pirate who took ships and gold and burned the flags of kings that didn't deserve the symbols. He isn't the man driven by revenge to believe that the ends really justified the means - that the Crocodile could be defeated if only he kept the dust of Milah's heart in his veins, never allowing her to leave his thoughts so he'd be able to find the nerve to avenge her. He isn't even Lieutenant Jones, who'd follow his sibling to the ends of the earth if for the name and glory of the crown he served under. He most certainly isn't the boy who was abandoned on a ship by a father who didn't mind if his free will was forcibly stripped from him.

Killian doesn't know quite who he is, anymore. Perhaps he's just Killian Jones, the man who grapples to find bits of all of who he's ever been and assemble them to be of some use to someone, out there. Assemble them so that he could be proud of himself, that perhaps Emma could be proud of. Not just a pirate she tolerates for the sake of a mission, but the man she looks at with trust in her eyes and a genuine smile on her lips. Instead of begrudgingly assisting people in scattering away from the queen, taking credit for crimes he didn't commit, he could fight alongside her and bring back every bloody fantasy this kingdom has had about returning to prior glory. He's skipped a few centuries of the best days, but perhaps he can see the future ones.

Or perhaps he won't. His gut twists at the thought of what he's going to have to do, after, when he returns to being Captain Hook. Rumplestiltskin can't live, after all he's done, and thus Killian won't be able to either. Captain Hook had enough self-loathing to make his own peace with that. And no matter how much Killian Jones gets weak in the knees for a pretty lass with an inspiring message, he can't forget that. He's picked at the wound for long enough, he has no other choice than to cut it clean off rather than attempting to heal it.

Starkey just stares at him, then, waiting petulantly for a suitable reply. Killian opens his mouth only to close it, still contemplating where he should go from here.

Forward, is the short answer. He may have to worry about Rumpelstiltskin and revenge later, but there's no reason he should leave Emma behind. "I know damn well who I am, mate," he grits out, downing the rest of his rum with a scowl. "I don't need you attempting to tell me. The Savior is my best path forward. I have to deal with Regina first, then get to the Crocodile."

"And if I told you I could get you to Rumplestiltskin?" Starkey proposes, the words coming out rushed as if he's been waiting too long to say them. He's always been a storyteller, Starkey has, telling wild tales of mermaid and gods and goddesses. They were all, of course, far from true. Simple and fleeting matters of truth never affected him very much, however. "If I told you that Regina is a pragmatic sort of person, that she sees an opportunity to deal with you and she'll take it. I know exactly where the Crocodile is, Hook. All you have to do is abandon this ridiculous mission and he's all yours."

"You joined her guard," Killian snorts in disbelief, his mind whirring too much to process much else. "Of course you did."

Starkey shrugs. "Didn't give me much of a choice, did you? It wasn't as if you weren't working for her, yourself, though you've proven to have your sword in two places more than once."

"As have you," Killian replies grimly. "As if I could forget the time where you nearly threw me out to Pan yourself."

"Please," Starkey scowls. "As if you didn't do all that and more to us by dragging us there yourself."

Killian slams his drink down, then, the glass making a clunking sound against the wood. The bartender glares, but doesn't bother them any further.

"So what's your answer then, Captain?" Starkey says the last word jeeringly, as if Killian hasn't earned the title. "You spent centuries going after Rumplestiltskin and brought the rest of us along with you. Do you want to know where the Crocodile is or not? It looks like the Savior has already abandoned you, after all, she isn't even with you. Decided that the pirate was too roughish for her, hm? Did she uncover any of the dark details of your past or-"

"My answer is no," Killian says, shortly, digging gold out of his satchel to pay for the drinks. There's nothing else to be said. "I'd thank you for the kind visit, but we both know it's anything but."

Starkey's eyebrows raise substantially. "Just like that? Not even a moment of consideration?"

"I don't need one," Killian says abruptly.

And he doesn't.

Killian already made the decision to put Emma first a long time ago. He isn't quite sure when, the niggling thought of Rumpelstiltskin and the fact that he could go search for him himself with the guards already preoccupied with the Savior is something he's been pushing to the back of his mind. At some point, he thought of it less and less. It became more of a matter of how he could help Emma more than how could she help him.

He isn't quite sure how, but it did.

And who is he to refuse Killian Jones, even at the expense of the distaste of Captain Hook?

Starkey grimaces, moving to withdraw his sword from his belt at Killian's words. "I suppose if you truly feel that way…"

Killian grabs Starkey's sword before he can, the drinking slowing Starkey's reflexes far more than it does Killian's. He casts it aside and it clatters on the wooden floor. The patrons look surprised at the show, but it's not altogether uncommon for a place as rough as this. They turn back to their conversations, their drinks, and their current tasks without much fanfare or room for thought. Starkey freezes, unsure of how else to respond.

"You're not to bother me again," Killian says brusquely, kicking Starkey's sword away with his boot so it's harder for the man to retrieve before he leaves. Killian's coat turns as he storms out of the tavern, not regretting the move in the slightest.

Starkey sits at the bar, too stunned to do much else.

-/-

Graham, Emma has discovered, is remarkably laid back.

She genuinely does not think he cares, at all, about the mission or following Regina's orders. While the guards typically exhibit a range of emotions - from fear to distaste to glee - Graham is stoic and immobile. Emma has caught him in small acts of kindness, though, which could maybe be an indicator of what lies beneath all that armour - physical and otherwise. Marian's words from the previous day sort of drove that home. He took the night shift, she overhears from the room she's sleeping in, so the men wanting to get home to their children didn't have to. Graham even had quiet nods for Emma's most biting commands, without the resentment that comes with the other guards' reluctant submission.

This is a man that's leading a cause to have her killed on his queen's orders, but Emma is sure this might quite possibly be the last thing he has the slightest interest of doing. Whatever circumstances led Graham to taking this job, they must have really twisted his arm. Given it's Regina, she must have twisted much more.

She considers the thought with a frown, stepping down the stairs after her (restless, she doesn't exactly feel comfortable closing her eyes with people intent on killing her if they knew who she was in the next room) sleep. Graham seems to be sitting at the base of the steps, staring at his hands with a quiet melancholy.

Emma sits next to him, unsure of what else to do.

"I'm sorry," Emma offers, lamely. "If I seemed a little...brutal, yesterday."

Graham shrugs, unconcerned, next to her. "Just doing your job like the rest of us, I reckon."

"Yeah," Emma says, brow furrowing in confusion at his words. "I guess I am. Trying to emulate Regina, anyway, if I'm not as callous as she is it could be my ass she's hunting down next."

Graham's expression clouds. "I suppose...I suppose it could be. Or your family, for that matter."

There it is. "What did she do, threaten yours?"

He hesitates.

"Because that's what she did to mine," Emma encourages him further, crossing her arms and hunching into herself. "Killed them right in front of me, told me to work for her if I didn't want to be next. It's probably why I'm so mean. It's like a dog when it goes rabid, you know, the sickness makes it so vicious and -" she gasps out, for added effect, though guilt pangs at her stomach for the morbid lie. "I'm envious of those two bastards, in a way, the Savior and the pirate. They get to run. We don't."

"No," Graham says solemnly. "I suppose we don't."

A silence falls over the two of them, for a brief moment.

"Speaking of rabid dogs..." he trails off. "Would you laugh if I told you I was raised by wolves?"

Emma raises her eyebrows. "Depends. Are you serious? I'll laugh at a joke if it's meant to be a joke, but if it's serious it makes a hell of a story."

He laughs, at that. "Ah, in which case, yes. I'm serious. Shape shifting wolves, if that's any consolation. I told the queen I'd work for her if she'd protect my pack."

Emma thinks of Ruby and her offhand comment that she could transform into a wolf. She wonders idly if they'd ever met, though they clearly ended up on opposing sides. "Let me guess, didn't hold through her deal?"

Graham scrubs at his face with his hand, letting his head hang between his legs and he brings his knees up to his chest. "No. Took something else, instead."

He taps his fingers over his heart, the motion so slight she can hardly notice it. Emma squints, for a moment, until she realizes the significance of it. She gapes, her back pressing up against the wall as she resists the urge to panic at what it means. "She has your heart."

"It's not as if I'm on," he swallows. "Complete constant observation, it's more of a weekly check in. She pulls my heart out of a drawer and I'm a link for her to the guards, barking orders at me to do this and that."

"But she can," Emma intones, now realizing the full impact of how easily Graham could discover she isn't who she says she is, with only message from Regina's lips to his heart.

"Yeah," he says, gruffly. "I suppose she can."

There's a tense silence between the two of them for a few moments, both of them unwilling to break it.

Emma does, eventually. "We should get to planning on how to capture the pirate and the Savior, then. I think the last thing either of us need is Regina on our asses."

Graham gives her a brusque nod, moving to stand. He offers her his hand for her to pull herself up with.

She takes it, a little reluctantly.

When they both head back to the table where the men are eating breakfast, they part ways. Emma never got the chance to quiz the men over Regina's latest plan, but maybe now she can press at it.

"So," Emma starts brusquely, and the men stiffen at her voice as she stands in front of the table. "In order for us to make a plan to defeat the pirate and the Savior, we need to assemble all available information. Anyone care to remind me what Regina's plan was?"

A few beats of silence pass. Emma lets her irritation show in the souring of her face. "If you can't even recall the orders of your queen, you're an even more pitiful lot than I thought."

"We send Starkey," a quiet voice says, finally.

Emma doesn't know who the hell Starkey is. She masks for confusion for a beat, clamoring for more information. "And…" she gestures for them to continue, trying to look more bored and pedantic than genuinely curious.

"We already did," another man adds, bored. "He still hasn't come back. He's been looking for Hook since before the bounty hunter failed and we found you. As Hook's former crewmember, the queen told us he should have more luck."

Emma narrows his eyes. "And why would his crewmate have such influence over him?"

"Because Hook wants to kill the Dark One, of course," the first guard continues. "The queen offered him a deal in the beginning to kill him and that's why he worked for her. Now, she's offering him a better one. Starkey was gonna offer him his location for the Savior's. Then Starkey would kill him and move on. But, seeing that he's clearly failed..."

He wouldn't, Emma reasons. Not after everything, Killian wouldn't do that. He's never mentioned anything about the Dark One or a crewmate named Starkey or...any of it. Emma frowns, unsettled by the news. Killian has been private with some matters, guarding his past even more carefully than she guards hers. He didn't lie to her, but it's looking more and more like he's been withholding some information from her about his history.

(It's unfair to expect him to reveal everything about himself, she reasons.)

(That doesn't make it sting any less.)

But still, Killian is in danger and her heart drops to her stomach at the thought. There's nothing that catches you off-guard like old friends, and as few as Killian seems to have and as haunted as he seems to be by his past…

The question isn't if Killian will betray her (even though there's a very real fear of that), but what will happen to him either way. If Starkey - his ridiculously named former crewmember - holds as big of a grudge as he seems to, this could end really badly for him. It's kind of ironic that Killian parted ways with her concerned for her safety when she should have been concerned for his.

Emma needs to get out of here.

She exhales, trying her best to mask her conflicting thoughts with a tight smile. "Very good. And you're right, we will, which is why-"

Graham, of all people, interrupts her. "Wait."

She shoots him a questioning look, at that, but Graham's eyes are wooden and his posture is stiff.

"She's not Lilly," Graham says darkly, looking over the her with eyes that aren't really his. "That's the Savior."

Regina must have gotten her hands on his heart for a check-in. Damn it.

The men exchange baffled looks, overwhelmed by the news, and Emma takes the opportunity to run while she can. She races down the stairs, Graham at her heels, and manages to deadbolt the door before he can come through it. It's a good thing she had the keys, she thinks. There's a door to the outside downstairs, by the cells, and while she's sure this was a shitty security decision on the part of the people who constructed this place she's hardly going to complain about the opportunity it gives her. Emma just hopes they don't realize this and that they keep trying to break the other door down.

Marian - the lone occupant - looks at Emma with confusion in her eyes.

"What the hell is going on? Why are they trying to break in? Why did you lock them out?" Marian's questions all come out in a rush. She's, understandably, lost.

"Yeah," Emma says, not helping answer any of Marian's questions at all, quickly trying to unlock her out of her cell. "I'm not leaving without you, though, so don't worry."

Marian looks up at her, perplexed. "What do you mean? You're a guard."

"Not exactly," Emma grimaces, looking over her shoulder as the sound of crashing against the door grows louder. The lock opens and she sighs with relief, gesturing for Marian to go through.

Marian just stares at her. "What are you doing?"

"The real question is what the hell are you doing asking me when you should just be getting out of here," Emma retorts, waving her out. "I can explain later. Right now? We're running."

"We're running," Marian repeats dubiously.

"Oh, for f-" Emma looks up at the ceiling, the sound of the guards impossible to ignore. "I'm the Savior, sorry for the shock, now run before the big bad men slit our throats, alright?"

Marian gapes at her for a heartbeat before running after her.

-/-

Killian promised he'd wait at the inn, a village over from the last. He'd scrawled a room number out for her on her arm, the ink of his quill drying quickly on her pale skin before she covered it with her sleeve. Emma said something about being bad with remembering numbers and a piece of parchment with his location in the wrong hands could prove to be disastrous. He promised her a day or two before going after her.

It's been a day.

It hasn't exceeded the limit, but it does inspire a bit of anxiety in him. Images flash in his brain - of Emma saying the wrong thing and having a dozen swords pointed at her. Emma, forced to kneel before Regina as she sentences her to her death. Killian finding Emma's body if his worries win out and he does go after her tomorrow, already cold and left carelessly on the ground by her killers.

It's not that he doesn't trust her to take care of herself. It's not that he thinks of her as anything less than capable. It's that he can't get these bloody images out of his head and it's slowly driving him insane.

He grabs his sword, agitation in his movements as he paces back and forth in the room before casting the aside as he realizes the fruitlessness of grabbing it. It's not as if he can fight off any threat with his sword at in a bloody room in an inn, far away from Emma and any of her potential foes.

Killian slumps against the door, frustrated, just as he hears and feels a knock at the other side of it.

Killian opens the door so quickly he's almost afraid he'll break the handle of it.

"Hi," Emma greets from the other side of the door, a smile threatening to break out on her face. She's wearing her leather coat, her cheeks pink with the cold of the outside. "Did you miss me?"

Killian embraces her on sight, letting out a relieved laugh as she wraps her arms around him tightly. Her feet raise off the ground for a brief moment as he sways with her in his arms. Her nose presses at the top of her shoulder and she lets out a satisfied sigh. "You have no idea how worried I was, love."

"Sorry," she replies, smiling against his shoulder. "It took a little longer than I thought it would."

"I told myself that one more day and I'd go after you," he swears vehemently. "You inspire a bit of anxiety in a man, like that, but I'm so relieved at the moment I could kiss you."

She pulls back to look at him, then, taken slightly by surprise by the statement. "You could, huh?"

Killian's eyes turn heavy-lidded, his arms moving further down her back and feeling the cool leather of her coat. He could swear she leans in to meet him, but he catches himself before his hand reaches the base of her spine, ears turning pink and quickly clearing his throat. The spell is broken and then both take a small step back from each other, the intoxication of each other's space too overwhelming to cope with.

"Did you find out what it was?" he asks quickly. "Regina's plan?"

Her fingers tighten on his back - he's briefly worried about what thought could be running through her head - and she exhales sharply. "One of your old shipmates, did you run into him?"

Killian's face falls. He wonders how the bloody hell she could have heard about that, for a moment, before realizing just what Regina's plan was. "He was supposed to convince me that it'd be prudent to return to an old mission," he summarizes, looking at the wall behind her, for a moment, too uncomfortable to meet her eyes. "I told him I was content pursuing the current."

Emma's mouth parts, at that. It isn't quite a gape, but it is a little surprised and unsure. "Are you sure?"

"Sure that's what I said?" Killian questions, brow furrowing in confusion. He hopes she isn't questioning his motives, that she doesn't think she has to look over her shoulder with him. Killian knows he's hardly had the most trustworthy past, but a part of him aches at the idea of Emma thinking of him as anything less than someone she can trust.

"No," she replies quickly, shaking her head vehemently as she lifts her hand to his chest and looks up to meet his eyes. "I mean, that guy apparently was going to try to kill you, but are you sure that this is what you want to do instead of the 'old mission' or whatever? It's not too late to back out, and I know this is asking a l-"

"I'm afraid you won't get rid of me that easily, Swan," he replies easily, his voice soft and his eyes not leaving hers.

Her eyes shine. "I'm sure I'll find a way to cope."

He embraces her, again. He laughs, _again,_ because he's unable to help it. "I'm rather relieved you're intact, Swan."

"Yeah," she replies, propping her chin on his shoulder as his hand runs up and down her back. "Me too. I did bring someone with me, though. She's in the next room, a prisoner of Regina's."

"Of course she does," Killian replies into her hair, more bemused than exasperated at her statement. "Let me guess, you found her in the dungeon and broke her out once you had the chance?"

Emma shrugs. "It's kind of what we do, isn't it?

"I suppose it is," he answers easily, moving back only to press his forehead against hers. "Dashing rescues and all."

She grins.


	8. Fire and Water

They meet Marian the next morning, once they've all gotten some sleep.

She's nestled into the corner of the tavern attached to the inn, a tankard of something in her hands as Emma and Killian amble in front of her. Marian raises a dark eyebrow at Killian - Emma explained that she was traveling with a guy, Captain Hook in particular, briefly and Marian assured her she's heard enough about the two of them by now - but otherwise says nothing as the two sit across from her.

There's a terse pause, for a moment, all of them unsure where to go from here. Emma had gotten her out and guided her to where she was staying, but they were both so dead on their feet by the end of the night they didn't have time to discuss much else. Aside from _'Can't say I expected you to be the Savior'_ or _'Yeah, me neither'_ , conversation on the way to the inn was pretty limited.

Killian, of course, isn't the type to let silence sit.

"Killian Jones," he introduces himself quickly, sticking his arm out to shake her hand. She takes it, quickly giving him one firm shake before her hand falls. "I'm Emma's…"

"Bodyguard," Emma teases, rolling her eyes at her own reply. It's still funny.

He scoffs. "Piracy consultant."

"Blacksmith?"

"Partner," Killian says finally, grinning despite his dramatic sigh. Marian looks between the two of them, understandably bewildered.

"Yeah," Emma nods, looking to Killian. It's the closest word to describe it, anyway. The more she thinks about it, the more it makes sense. "He's my partner."

Killian's smile softens.

Marian clears her throat. "Right. Listen, I can't thank you enough for your help. I don't know what I'd do if…" she pauses, suddenly overcome with emotion as she redirects her gaze to the wood of the table. It looks as if she's blinking back tears, the impact of what could have happened to her settling on her shoulders. "I have a husband and a son. They need me. I have to get back to them. I can't imagine what they must be thinking."

"Well," Emma says easily. "We can get you back to them. You know where they are?"

Marian looks up at her, surprised. "I can get back to them myself."

"And get caught again?" Emma suggests dubiously. "We can help you there. If you run into any guards, we can help take care of them. They've been a little more suspicious, lately. Which is...basically entirely our faults."

"Are you suggesting I can't handle myself?" Marian asks, crossing her arms as her expression turns annoyed. "Just because I got caught doesn't mean I'm completely helpless. I may not be _the Savior_ , but I can take care of myself just fine."

"No," Emma continues, her voice even and sympathetic. "We've gotten caught, too. We just know how important it is to have people who can have your back. No one can do this alone, Marian."

This, Marian seems to accept with less reluctance. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You didn't," Killian chimes in, leaning back in his chair. He brings his arms up to stretch up above his head - his coat is off and draped on the back of the chair he's seated in, so all he's wearing is a thin shirt and vest on his chest - and Emma quickly averts her eyes. He lets out a groan that would only be more obscene if it were intentional. Emma is definitely not blushing and if she was, it's only because she's tired and it's early and - _anyway_. His arms drop and he finishes his sentence. "We insisted. How far away is your family?"

"Only about half a day's walk," Marian answers, looking as if she's still warring with herself to accept their help.

Emma sighs, leaning over the table to rest her hand on top of Marian's. "Listen, this is kind of what we do. We'll walk you back to camp. You will reunite with your family. It's the least I can do, given you got in this mess for standing up for my mother."

The corners of Marian's lips turn upwards. "Yeah, well, I got the guards off her trail a few years ago and they just found me recently. Apparently, they hold grudges. It'd be worse if they knew who my husband was, I'm sure."

"Who is your husband?" Killian asks curiously.

Marian shakes her head with a wry grin. "I think I'll let him introduce himself. Now that I think about it, he'd faint if he got to meet the Savior and Captain Hook."

Emma grimaces. "Right. Can you just stick to Emma and Killian?"

Marian nods. "I can, sorry. I'm just still...a little in disbelief."

"Believe me," Emma mutters under her breath. "So am I."

Killian catches her statement and shakes his head, grinning."So, breakfast, then onwards?" Killian suggests, tilting his head to the door.

"Sounds like a plan," Emma replies.

-/-

It's back to walking through the forest the next day, Marian at their heels. They're are used to this, by now, the trekking to the next location. Killian showed Marian a map - his cartography has proven to be a useful skill yet again - and she pointed to the encampment her family was last at. Emma and Killian walk side by side, steps in sync, occasionally sharing a flask of water between them. Killian pretends his hand doesn't linger on hers as he grasps the water between them.

(It's only an extra second, anyway.)

Marian remains silent for around an hour, seemingly lost in thought as they move. It's not until Killian nearly trips, Emma grasping his arm with a stilted laugh and helping him up, that she talks.

Well, she chuckles first, her eyes darting between the two of them before she speaks. "Aren't you two cute," she remarks wryly.

Emma takes a step back from him, a little defensively. Killian grins.

"I'm grateful to have the Savior's hands to catch me, hm?" he replies cheerily, continuing his walk without much hesitation. It was better with an easy, airy dismissal. Anything further would make Emma balk, he's sure.

"So," Marian begins conversationally, swinging her arms a bit awkwardly as she walks alongside the two of them. "What have you two been up to? Saving kittens from big trees or just women from guards?"

Emma tilts her head to the side, looking over to Killian contemplatively as she catches up to him. "Kittens?"

"No kittens," he finishes. "You're not the first woman we've saved from guards, however."

"Or man," Emma emphasizes, raising her eyebrows.

"Or man," Killian repeats matter-of-factly.

"So, is that what you're doing?" Marian asks, curiosity blatant in her tone as they trudge forward. "The Savior and Captain Hook, just saving random people from Regina's guards?"

"Um," Emma presses her lips together. "Not exactly, though that's the way things seem to be turning out. We're trying to find a box, one that can defeat Regina."

"A box?" Marian parrots dubiously. "How is a box going to defeat the Evil Queen?"

"It's a magical box," Emma defends, a little too vehemently. Killian can't resist the urge to laugh.

"A magical box," Marian repeats. "Well, you would know more than I would, so I take you at your word."

Emma shrugs helplessly.

Killian chuckles, again. "Wait until we tell her about our plan to _get_ the box."

-/-

It only takes them a few hours after that to get to the encampment, much to the relief of all three of them. Marian maneuvers them through their security measures - from the nets that she claims a friend named Little John rigged to a few other traps. There are a few men and a handful of women milling about, tents and fires the main features of the patch of forest.

"Marian!" a man with dark hair and dark eyes greets effusively, his arms coming around Marian with a desperate tenacity. Marian grasps him back just as tightly, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck. The mentioned husband, Emma is sure. "Marian, gods, I never thought I'd see you again. It's been days, we were so worried. You went into the village for supplies and it's been days since you've-"

"Robin, thank the gods," Marian murmurs, burrowing into his neck. "Regina captured me," Marian explains, sounding almost in disbelief herself. She presses her arms more firmly around him, laughing in relief. She leans back to face her husband as his hand moves to skim down the side of her face, eyes darting across the camp where men and women are scattered about. "Where's-"

A little boy who can't be older than five runs and cries out "Mama!" before clinging to Marian's legs. Marian tears up, quickly bending down to ruffle her son's hair. Emma's lips curve up into a smile, a little affected by the sight. Killian tries to look nonchalant, but she can tell by the way his eyes shine that his heartstrings are pulled, too.

"Roland," Marian breathes out, crouching down so she's in front of him. Robin follows soon after, moving to his own haunches behind their son. "Roland, honey, I missed you so much."

Roland's arms go around her shoulders, then, clinging to her as if he never wants to let go of her. "I missed you too, Mama."

Robin laughs, at that, the sound shaky with his own relief. He pats his hand on his son's back, looking over his shoulder to meet Marian's eyes. "How did you get away? Regina's guards are fools, sure, but it's rare for anyone to get out alive. If anyone could do it, however," he murmurs the words fondly, eyes never leaving Marian's. "It'd be you."

Marian smiles, small and soft. "I can't take all the credit," her eyes flicker to where Killian and Emma are standing, a few paces behind her.

Robin must have been so preoccupied by the sudden appearance of his wife, he failed to notice them altogether. He stands jerkily, eyes darting between the two of them. "And you two are?"

"That's the Savior," Marian motions to Emma, then, pointing at her as she stands up with her son in her other arm. "And that's Captain Hook."

Emma gives him a meek wave. Killian doesn't fare much better, his eyes trained nonchalantly on a tree as if bark is the most interesting thing he's ever seen in all his life. Robin's eyebrows raise in surprise.

Marian grins wryly. "Yeah."

Roland looks up at the two of them a little mystified before burying his face in his mother's shoulder. He must be a shy kid, Emma notes.

"Well," Robin clears his throat, walking up to the two of them and shaking both of their hands. "I'm a fan of your work. Name's Robin Hood."

Emma's expression furrows in confusion. "Our work?"

" _Robin Hood?"_ Killian asks, sounding incredulous.

"Sticking it to Regina, that is," he clarifies, a thoughtful look on his face. "And saving my wife, which I will be indebted to you forevermore for. But I'm also very, very much appreciative of your work against Regina. I've been seeing our wanted posters side by side for weeks now, it's nice to put faces to names."

"But our faces aren't on those, right?" Emma asks, sounding concerned. All the wanted posters she's seen just have their names and a rapidly increasing amount of gold next to them. If they've managed to get sketches, it could make their task that much more difficult.

"No," Robin says, shaking his head. "Regina killed her best sketch artist a few years back. He was also the queen's painter, as it turns out, and she was quite unsatisfied with a portrait of her. Terrible for the poor bloke, but I suppose it bodes well for us."

"Right," Emma says, feeling a little guilty for her sigh of relief.

"I reckon that was before my time," Killian comments. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Robin, I've heard a lot about you. All terrible, of course, given it was in the queen's court, but that actually paints you in a positive light."

"I could say the same for you, though admittedly when I heard about the queen's assassin I was hardly an admirer. It wasn't until word got around you were, in fact, the worst assassin in the kingdom -"

"Really," Marian adds, adjusting Roland in her arms,"the worst."

"I'm nearly offended," Killian proclaims, putting his hand to his chest dramatically. "I just remember Regina being quite perturbed that a gang of villagers had decided to rob the rich and give to the poor."

Emma had heard the generalities of who Robin Hood was, the guy who led a group of people to - apparently - redistribute the wealth. It'd be something to be critical of - maybe - if she hadn't heard the stories of people being saved from starvation in their efforts. "Didn't you rob that one guard - the one that kept fining villagers whenever he jailed them for stupid reasons - and give all the gold back to the villagers he took it from? Or was that just a story?"

"We did," Robin beams. "What a buggering idiot, I'll tell you, he kept records of who he took it from and everything. Made it an easy task to give it back. We have a bit of a code, a system when it comes to these things. The charitable sort won't get much trouble from us. The cruel? We'd adore spiting them."

"Is that where you get your name, then?" Killian suggests, a grin coloring his lips. " _Robin_?"

Robin blinks. "No. That's just my name."

"Oh," Killian murmurs, his voice falling flat. There's a stilted silence, for a beat.

Robin guffaws. "I'm just jesting. I get it. But, no, that is actually my name as well. The 'Hood' was an add-on."

"I understand nicknames based off of attire," Killian concedes with a nod, digging in his satchel and pulling out his hook.

Emma looks between the two dark haired and accented thieves, both apparently unable to shut up.

She leans over to Marian and mutters under her breath, "I swear, they're _multiplying_."

Marian laughs, at that. Roland squirms out of her arms and starts running towards the other part of the camp, his attention in the conversations around him apparently already waning.

"I'm almost in disbelief, meeting the both of you," Robin says, shaking his head in almost a daze. "We've been working against the queen for years and heard rumors of the Savior - one of our men was helped in an escape by Captain Hook a year ago, he claims - but to meet you in person is quite incredible. Protesting the corrupt nature of the monarchy pays off, after all."

"You say, in front of the monarch," Marian replies dryly, gesturing to Emma.

Emma shrugs, unconcerned. "I'm not exactly... Anyway, you won't hear complaints from me. What we're trying to do is _overthrow_ a corrupt monarch."

"It has to be done through a revolution, of sorts," Robin insists excitedly, practically rocking back and forth on his heels. He's clearly been holding it in, it seems. "You see, simply taking the throne from here could leave irreparable instability-"

"In comparison to now?" Emma challenges, raising her eyebrows. "I think the goal is just to get her out and, boom, a big part of the problem already solved. Overthrow Regina and the kingdom is already a lot better off."

"Regina provides some sort of governance, as abusive and deplorable as it may be," Robin points out thoughtfully. Marian sighs, as if she's heard this a million times before. "Without it, there could be a vacuum. Unless we had someone to fill it, someone with the popular appeal enough for the persecuted to find their very own champion, their-"

"Savior," Killian finishes, looking over to Emma with a degree of curiosity. "Thoughts?"

"Um," Emma blinks, trying to collect her thoughts. "Pass."

"Pass?" Robin asks, baffled. "I thought that was the purpose of the Savior was to defeat the queen once and for all and save the kingdom - part of that is ensuring that there's a stable transition of power."

Emma shakes her head with a sigh, hands coming up to rub at her temples. She signed up to defeat Regina, sure (she really didn't sign up at all, but she's at least accepted it). Emma certainly didn't sign up to govern in her place. Neither did she sign up to get a lecture on how to properly and politically deal with bad leaders (seriously - _what the hell, Robin Hood?_ ). "My parents, they'll be the ones to fill the power vacancy, or whatever. They have experience with," she waves her hand in the air, attempting to articulate her muddled thoughts. "They have experience with all that."

"Where are they now?" Marian asks curiously, her forehead furrowing.

Emma's mouth goes dry, then, uncertain of how to say she doesn't know in a way that doesn't make her look like a delusional wreck.

Killian, thankfully, interrupts. "In hiding until they can re-emerge safely, is my understanding."

"Why aren't they fighting now?" Marian asks, her eyebrows pulling together as she frowns. "Fighting alongside the rest of us, alongside their daughter?"

"They did," Robin points out with a grimace. "Remember the stories of the sleeping curse?"

"Right," Marian exhales. "Still, it didn't seem like them to give up. For 28 years, these people saw hide nor hair of their leaders, the leaders that were supposed to be good and wholesome and protect them."

"They're no good to anyone dead," Emma says, crossing her arms a little defensively. Truthfully, she's had the same thoughts. More selfish thoughts, maybe, but on a similar wavelength. She's wondered why her parents abandoned her, why they dumped her off at a village instead of kept her. Maybe her only use to them is as the Savior, the woman to take care of Regina so they can go back to their old jobs.

Emma sighs heavily, a grimace settling on her features. The pressure of the conversation is making her more and more anxious, constricting her breaths and making her want to claw her way out of this situation. Killian notices almost immediately, rubbing his hand up and down her back reassuringly. "Swan, we don't know...we don't know the full story of entirely what happened to your parents. But we know they're out there, we know they've got your back, and we know they care about their kingdom, alright?"

Odds are high Killian is just paying her lip service. Still, it's a delusion she can cling to.

Marian frowns. "Sorry, I just...it's frustrating, sometimes. I didn't mean to be questioning your-"

"It's fine," Emma reassures her. "I don't even...you have to understand, one second I'm just living my life and the next a random woman tells me I'm the Savior and I need to run."

"And you're doing a fine job of it," Robin says with a kind smile. "Now, you came all this way and you saved my wife. The least I can do is offer you two dinner, I apologize for the conversation becoming so suddenly...heavy. I get ahead of myself, sometimes."

Marian nods in agreement. "I can't emphasize enough how grateful I am that you saved me. I just...the topic had me thinking about the future and the future is…"

"It's a mess," Emma summarizes.

"Yeah," Marian nods. "That's a good description."

"The good news," Killian says, infusing as much cheer as he can in his voice. "It's not as if things can get any worse."

-/-

So, Killian and Emma sit down at the camp, set their things down, and mingle with the people around them. A few of them shake their hands, proclaiming how they're going to tell their grandchildren about how they met the Savior and Captain Hook while Emma's cheeks flush and Killian's ears go red. A couple almost seem too afraid to interact with them - which is weird, seeing as they hardly seem intimidating blushing and stammering - and the rest seem to ignore them entirely.

Of all the options, Emma thinks she likes the last kind the best.

"I never thought I'd feel so welcome among a bunch of criminals," Emma jokes, nudging Killian. "Then again, given my history...I'm hardly in a position to judge."

"Under Regina's rule, being a criminal is hardly a bad thing. Sometimes the men and women with the most honor are the ones with the least nobility," Killian proffers with a shrug. "Thieves have codes too, you see."

"I do," Emma replies easily. "I see you've found a fellow thief with a code, too."

"Robin is a bit of a political cognoscente, which is," Killian cocks his head to the side, "surprising, to say the least. They've developed a sort of system here, one they're quite fond of. Less authoritarian, more communal I reckon."

"He's not the only one who's a political cognoscente," Emma teases, elbowing him lightly. "For a pirate, you sure care a lot about the nature of political systems."

"Erm," Killian coughs. "Naval academy."

Emma raises her eyebrows. "You were in the naval academy? Do we even have that anymore?"

"Further proof that Regina is destroying the education, here," Killian challenges with a raise of his eyebrow. "Learned quite a few things in the academy, I did. Though that came with its own brand of authoritarian brainwashing. Medicine my ars-"

Emma just looks at him. "Funnily enough, I didn't think too much about infrastructure once she started with the mass slaughter."

"Wasn't that present since day one?"

"Exactly," Emma nods curtly, crossing her arms. "I got lucky one of the people who took me in taught me how to read when I was a kid, or else I'd be screwed. That and libraries are probably why I can string sentences together."

"One of the people who took you in?" Killian asks, surprised. "You weren't with Ingrid the duration of your childhood?"

Emma curses under her breath, biting her lip. Revealing this shouldn't be a matter of concern, given everything that's happened, but she doesn't offer these details easily. Just accidentally, apparently. "Well, yeah. It's a long story."

Luckily, Robin announces that dinner is done cooking right at that moment. It relieves her of explaining much more.

-/-

The Merry Men and Women are amazing cooks, it turns out. For a group of people that rely purely on their bows and what they can forage, they do a spectacular job. Emma lingers around the fire even as everyone else leaves, licking her fingers like she's still a little girl who broke into the bakery. No one is around to judge her for it.

Everyone except Roland, it seems. He's managed to overcome his bout of shyness, saying hello and offering her a literal flower crown - of all things - that he blushes and said he made for her. Being the Savior, at least, seems to have the merits of winning over small children.

She could keel over and die, right here. Emma accepts it with a broad smile, overwhelmed with affection for the little boy. She holds it, delicately. "Thank you so much, Roland! I don't know what I did to deserve such a pretty crown," Emma coos, her lips almost hurting with how much she's smiling.

"Put it on," he suggests, rocking back on his adorably tiny feet. He has his dad's mannerisms, it seems.

Emma does so, carefully, trying her best to keep the assortment of pink and blue flowers stuck together. It clashes, miserably, with her red jacket and dark riding clothes, but she's hardly about to complain.

Roland beams, standing on the tips of his toes to fiddle with the flowers on top of her head. Emma grins, ducking her head in her seat on the log to allow him further access. "You look like a princess," he comments thoughtfully.

Emma laughs, at that, taking the crown off and giving it to him so he can play with his masterpiece. "Hardly. My mom used to show me how to make these when I was younger, though. Older than you, but I liked them."

"I dunno, Swan," Killian comments with a grin, moving to sit beside her and catching her by surprise. He was talking to Robin a few paces away a moment ago. "You seem like quite the princess to me."

"I'm torn between considering that an insult or a compliment," Emma replies.

"Oh, I'm always compliments with you," he protests, winking at her.

The man still cannot wink. Emma just pinches his arm and rolls her eyes.

"You're Captain Hook," Roland says, sounding awed.

Killian grins, hunching down so that he's closer to eye level with the boy. "That I am, lad. I've heard you're quite the brave knight, yourself. Your father says you're the bravest man in the lot."

Roland's chest puffs up, a little, at that. Emma laughs.

-/-

A few hours later, the camp is apparently set on dancing.

"Dancing," Emma repeats dubiously.

"Dancing," Marian reiterates, grabbing Robin's hand with a grin. "Lifts the spirits. Also, it distracts us from how truly awful Tuck is at playing the pipe."

The music pauses just long enough for him to shout out, "Hey!"

Emma frowns, uncomfortable. "I think I'll turn in early, tonight, if that's oka-"

And then Robin and Marian are already off to dance amongst the other people at the camp. It'll just make it easier for her to sneak off, thankfully, if only...

"Nonsense, Swan," Killian says from beside her, grinning. "You want to make me dance alone?"

"I think that'd be better than exposing my lack of dancing skill to the world," Emma claims, shaking her head even as she reluctantly accepts Killian's hand as he leads her to where the others are.

"It's easy," Killian insists, draping her hand over his shoulder and skimming his down to her waist. "All you need is a partner who knows what he's doing."

His eyes meet hers a little heatedly. She swallows, hard. "I kind of have two left feet, I'm warning you."

"Then I suppose I can afford to lose a few toes along with the hand," Killian teases with a broad grin, his dimples becoming more pronounced. "A small price to pay, I'd wager."

He guides her steps, a little cautiously, moving slower than the people around them while she catches up. She stares at their shoes the entire time - both of their boots are scuffed beyond belief - but she does get it. There's a pattern, so once it repeats the third time she has a general idea of what's going on. Killian's hand is snug on her back, though, gently helping her along. When her eyes flick up to meet his once she's finally convinced she won't maim his feet, he's smiling at her and his eyes are soft.

"See?" Killian murmurs, leaning his lips down to her ears. "You're a natural, highness."

Emma groans, wrapping her arm around his back and tucking her chin into his shoulder. "You really won't let the princess thing go, will you?"

She steps on him, then, and winces as she stills. "Sorry," Emma says, quickly.

He laughs into her ear, the sound deep and reassuring. "Not to worry, this pirate's toes have taken worse beatings."

"Your toes?" she teases, leaning back to look at him and scrunching her nose. "I didn't know they went for the toes in the pirate fights. Shows how little I know about swashbuckling, huh?"

Killian grins broadly, his teeth prominent. "Ah, that you do. Toes are often the first to go, love, you have to guard them carefully. I'm one of the few pirate captains lucky enough to have all ten."

Emma snorts, shaking her head before she tucks her head right back in the crook of his neck. "I'm constantly learning new things with you."

He hums. "And I with you."

"Are you?"

"You can hardly beat learning from the Savior," he goads, his eyes shining with something like pride. Emma groans against his shoulder. "I dare say you've taught this pirate a thing or two about swordfighting. You've taught him that blankets are often a camping necessity," Emma chuckles, at that, "not to be afraid of small children, that it's often advantageous to help your kidnapper…"

"You know, this started as fun, but I'm beginning to see a negative pattern."

"Hush," Killian replies, not unkindly. "I'm not quite done. You taught me to see the best in everyone, Swan. Especially the best in brilliant, stubborn, beautiful blonde women with destinies."

Emma flushes. "You know, legend has it that if you have a magic bean you can get to another land where there's a vampire slayer that would fit what you're looking for-"

Killian groans. "Brilliant, stubborn, beautiful blonde women with destinies and a name shared with fowl," he nuzzles further in her hair. "Women that show, perhaps, that there's something worth coming back for in blackhearted cads like me."

"You're not-"

"I am," he says shortly. "But you put up with me regardless."

-/-

She's not a bad dancer, truthfully. Emma may have protested, but she catches up easily enough with his steps. They aren't complicated at all - he wonders how she'd fare with a waltz - but she hardly has two left feet. Maybe one and a half, if he's not being generous, but not two.

"You're not the worst to put up with," Emma replies lightly, tucking her hand so her arm is clasped more firmly around his shoulders. "Who would I have to teach me how to dance if you were?"

"I'm sure you'd manage," he hums contentedly. "It's not as if being told you can't do something is much of a deterrent for you."

"True," she concedes. "It does help to have someone to…"

He leans back to look at her, raising a questioning eyebrow. She stutters, for a beat, and he can't help but be taken with the way the light of the fire shines on the contours of her face. Her green eyes nearly light up. Killian has to resist the urge to cup her face, instead settling for just staring at her faintly awestruck before remembering himself. "Someone to what?"

Their feet have stilled, but her arms are still around her shoulders and his are at her waist.

Emma shakes her head almost imperceptibly. "Nothing."

It's hardly a satisfactory answer. He doesn't press her on it, though, just smiles fondly at her as his hand comes up to fiddle with one of the loose curls framing her face. "Ah, I see."

If he didn't know any better, Killian could swear she leans forward just a bit. Her eyes flutter closed and they're so, incredibly close. He nearly forgets how to breathe.

"I should," she stops herself abruptly, her lips so close to his her breath fans over his mouth. Emma takes several steps back, much to his dismay. "I should go...I should go sit down."

"Are you alright, Swan?"

"Fine," she replies abruptly. "I'm fine. I just have to catch my breath, or something. Sorry."

Killian watches her go, baffled. Marian and Robin still, looking over to him with something like sympathy.

-/-

Thankfully, everyone is too occupied with the merriment (they're Merry Men and Women, after all) to notice when she slips away. The small patch of forest is insulated enough that she shouldn't be bothered, but close enough that if something happens she should be ready.

Marian, to her surprise, follows her once she leaves. Her footsteps fill the clearing and Emma sighs.

"You're in that stage, huh?" Marian asks - more like states - as she sits next to the log Emma is pacing in front of. They're out of earshot from the rest of the group, secluded enough in the patch of forest that it's not very likely they'll be overheard. It's not that much of a comfort to Emma, though, considering she doesn't really feel like talking to _anyone_ right now.

(Especially not _'You two are cute'_ woman.)

(Emma is being unfair, she knows.)

"I don't know what you're talking about," Emma insists instead, stilling her pacing with her back turned to Marian. Her eyes flit across the clearing, looking for something to focus on that _isn't_ this. If she's lucky, Marian will sigh and give up.

Marian sighs. "I'm really not cut out for this."

And it sounds like she's giving up. The sound of footsteps as she walks out of earshot are further proof that she's done exactly what Emma hoped she would. Emma sags in relief. It doesn't last for long, though, without the distraction of Marian's presence. All she's left with is her thoughts, the thoughts she very, very much does not want to deal with.

Emma groans in exasperation, collapsing on the spot Marian just left. They're here to defeat Regina. They're here to get the box. They're here to help people, maybe, along the way. They're not here for anything else. Killian didn't come after her because of her sparkling personality and she didn't accept his help because he's a smartass.

She buries her face in her hands when she hears other footsteps approaching, certain that they belong to Marian. "I said I don't-"

"Oi," Robin calls out, lifting his hands in a pacifying gesture as Emma's eyes come up to meet his. "I'm not Marian. I was sent by her, though."

Apparently Marian didn't deem herself cut out for this - whatever this is - but her husband is.

"How are you?" Robin asks, attempting to be light and casual and failing the effort miserably. He sits down next to her on the log, looking at her and waiting for a response.

Emma grimaces. She wasn't expecting a lecture from Robin Hood when she came here. Emma just wanted to drop Marian off and move on. Of course, things are never that simple. "You don't have to...I just felt a little sick, all of the sudden. Just needed to catch my breath, I'll be fine in a few minutes."

He mutters something under his breath that sounds distinctly like _'lovesick, maybe'_ , but Emma ignores it. "Anything I can do to help?"

Emma shakes her head vehemently. "No. No, it's just something I have to wait to pass, I think."

"You know…" Robin begins, "You don't care of a sickness by just ignoring it. It typically gets worse if you do, in my experience."

The metaphor isn't lost on her. "We're not doing this."

"Doing what?" Robin asks in a faux-innocent voice. "I'm just giving you some advice on how to cope with illness, Savior. Take it or leave it. I've found that if you are able to, hm, resolve the illness - wait, that doesn't work…"

"Robin," Emma mutters, her voice clipped. "Is this really necessary?"

"Forget sickness, that's a terrible name for it anyway. It's the opposite, Emma, caring about someone. It's healing," Robin tells her, his voice measured and determined. "And I knew from the moment you two entered my camp that you were harboring some ...intense feelings for each other. It's no use deny-"

"I'm not harboring anything," Emma insists, frustrated. "I'm just trying to do my job. He's not harboring anything, either, Killian just...flirts with anything that moves. It's nothing personal. We're allies, not anything more than that."

Robin looks up at the sky, rolling his eyes dramatically. "You and I both know that's a lie, Emma. And if you believe that, you're lying to yourself."

Emma remains stubbornly silent, hoping that if she does so it'll mean he goes away. It's petulant, sure, but she doesn't have a host of options. What is she going to do, run away?

Robin groans. "You know, when I first met Marian...I was stealing just to steal. Didn't give much regard for who I was stealing from. My parents - they were hardly upstanding citizens - so I suppose I sort of followed in their footsteps. Stole from the rich, stole from the poor, stole from my friends...suppose it didn't make much of a difference to me, either way. Then, I met Marian."

"Let me guess," Emma mutters, staring at her hands. "You fell madly in love with her and vowed to only steal when it was right to win her over."

"Actually, no," Robin snorts. "She caught me stealing from her mother and about near killed me. It was her mother's wedding ring, see, and I figured I could catch a pretty penny for it pickpocketing."

"A wedding ring?"

"I had no scruples, Savior, but I gave it back to her!"

"Only after Marian told you to!"

"I would describe it a lot less as telling and more like," he huffs, shaking his head. "Anyway, Marian was furious. She spotted me at the market, stealing from her poor oblivious mother, and nearly kicked my arse. Gave me this whole lecture on what a miserable git I was, which was fair. Then, we went our separate ways. I thought about what she said, though, did some reading. I figured that I was showing it to everyone, the whole damn kingdom, by being such a rogue back then. I quickly realized that I was only showing myself as a right prick.

"I ran into Marian again a few months later, she comes storming into my camp. I see the woman that exposed me so thoroughly not a while ago and I figure she's here - for whatever bloody reason - to rip into me yet again. That is, until she tells me the queen laid siege to her village and she had nowhere else to go. She heard about my men, how we were building a refugee camp of sorts - which was a very new development, after I had decided to redeem myself a tad - and asked if she could sleep there for the night."

"And you told her yes," Emma surmises.

"I did. And she's the reason that we've been able to evade the queen ever since, I swear. Without her, we'd have been caught a thousand times. She didn't like me much, at first, and I truthfully wasn't a fan of hers. No one likes someone who makes them feel guilty, I suppose, but when we continued working together we grew closer. I began to admire her, respect her and she, for reasons I still can't quite understand but am thoroughly grateful for, grew to care for me. And that's how we've been ever since - a team."

Emma frowns, mulling his words over for a beat. "And you think that Killian and I…"

"You're a team," Robin states. "A hell of a good one, from what I've seen and heard. Anything that develops further would help you work together, not impede it. Take it from me, at least. Having someone you care about, someone you love at your side isn't a weakness, Emma. It's a strength."

-/-

Marian comes back from the clearing Emma just disappeared into looking exasperated. Robin seems to take this as a sign, not even needing the speak to his wife to know to go where she just left. Killian just sits, brow furrowed, as he attempts to make sense of his thoughts.

You hardly needed to be a wizard to figure out he felt something for her, a deep affection of sorts. Killian has grown to deeply respect Emma after the past few weeks - from her fiery determination to the depths of her compassion. Grown to adore her, come to think of it, from her sleepy morning smiles to the way she feels in his arms. But, Emma is right. She's right to leave, right to stop things from escalating.

They have a mission, after all. One neither of them can afford to be distracted from. If he knows anything about Regina, he knows just how much she loves to exploit the caring people feel for one another. If she goes after someone, she starts with the people that they love. Not that he -

Oh, bugger it all.

And then there's the matter of what's to happen after, what he has to do once Regina is - hopefully - out of the picture. He still has a duty to his first love (his only love, he reiterates mentally) that has to be fulfilled. And the only way he can do that is to risk himself. It's hardly fair, even if Emma did return his affections (a fantasy in and of itself) to promise her a future he can't give. Killian resists the urge to groan out loud, rubbing at his temple with his fingers. Marian sits opposite him, Roland in her lap, and she lets the three of them sit in silence for a few moments.

"You really care about her," Marian supplies, threading her fingers through Roland's hair. "Don't you? I mean, I heard stories but…"

"Stories like what?" Killian redirects instead.

"Oh, how devoted the pirate and Savior seem to be to each other. How you can't keep your hands off each other, how you overcame Regina's best curses to be together, how you're fated to be together, blah, blah, blah," Marian lists off, sounding faintly amused. Roland has fallen fast asleep in her lap.

"All of which are false," he snorts, shaking his head.

"Maybe," Marian concedes. "Except apparently the devoted part."

Killian purses his lips together. His expression twists into a bitter smile, but he doesn't reply.

"See?" Marian says, shaking her head. "Completely hopeless. It won't kill you to get it off your chest, you know. I can't believe I'm offering to be Captain Hook's confidant," Marian shrugs with a sigh, "but go ahead. Tell me how you really feel."

He isn't going to do that.

Killian clears his throat, nonetheless.

She stares at him.

Killian relents. "Ah, I don't quite know where to start. I suppose...I suppose after my first love, Milah, after her death...I went to a horrible place, really, seen parts of myself I never want to see again. Sometimes literally," he lifts up his prosthetic hand with a sardonic smile. "But, then, I..I met Emma. And I'm reminded of who I used to be. I never thought I'd be capable of letting go of my first love, my Milah, to believe I could find someone. That is, until I met Emma."

Marian's eyes go wide and they flit behind him, but he continues, assuming it's just an over dramatic response to his confession. "I'd go to the end of world for her, come to think of it."

He hears a few footsteps behind him and cranes his neck to look. Of course, it's just his luck that it's Emma and Robin. He cringes, shutting his eyes before he can see their expressions and hoping, dearly hoping, that she missed all of what he just said.

' _It won't kill you to get it off of your chest, you know.'_

Marian frowns apologetically.

"We should sleep," Emma announces, looking everywhere but at him. "We have a long day ahead."

Right. So that very dear hope was already out of the picture. Fantastic.

-/-

When they leave the next morning, they're both very studiously not talking to each other.

Emma didn't hear the whole thing. She heard enough, though, and that was enough for her to panic.

' _I never thought I'd be capable of letting go of my first love, my Milah, to believe I could find someone. That is, until I met her. I'd go to the end of the world for her, come to think of it.'_

Who says that? He probably knew she'd overhear, that she'd come to her own conclusions. It was probably an extension of the old fake couple act they've been running, but to go that far? Especially given the disaster area of her own emotions, it stung. He may as well have been making fun of her little stunt back when they were dancing, mocking what led her to run away from him in the first place.

Killian, though, at least has the decency to act embarrassed. His eyes are downcast and his mouth is shut. That doesn't mean she still isn't angry.

As they're - silently - trekking to the next village, they hear the unmistakable sound of the queen's guard and groan. It sounds like there's a lot of them, by the stamping of hooves and loud footsteps, and the closest place they can hide is a nearby cave.

They exchange looks, both thinking the same thing, and run to the inside of the cave. It's musty and cold, but it's going to have to work if they don't want to end up dead.

"Hopefully it won't take them long to pass," Killian mutters, one of his first words to her all day.

Emma grimaces. "Yeah, hopefull-"

The rocks in front of the cave start to tumble, a loud and horrendous sound, and Killian instinctively pulls her further into the cave away from the avalanche. Emma presses herself further into him, cringing as their vision is virtually entirely eliminated by darkness.

As soon as the sound stops, she retreats from his side. "Are we stuck?"

Killian grunts and she can hear his coat rustle as he moves to inspect the entry of the cave. "I'm afraid it isn't budging."

"Damn it," Emma curses, pressing her face into her hands. "How are we going to get-"

Killian stills, shushing her.

First, he pulls what he did last night. Now, he's shushing her. "Seriously? What the hell is your problem, Killian?"

"Swan, do you hear that?" Killian murmurs, his voice hushed.

"Hear what?"

Emma huffs, irritated, until she realizes what he's talking about. She can almost feel her skin paling and her heart dropping to her stomach. "That sounds like…"

"Water," he surmises gravely. "It sounds like water trickling in. There's a lake right next to this cave, Swan."

"It's flooding," Emma murmurs in disbelief, unable to ignore the sound now that she's aware of it.

"Aye."

"That's fantastic," Emma mutters sardonically. Her boots step into a puddle with her movement and it only makes her more frustrated. "I hope you're happy. You ignore me and this is where that gets you, gets the both of us."

"Me ignore _you_?" he says incredulously. "That's rubbish, you haven't spoken a word to me all day! Perhaps this is what happens when you don't speak to _me_!" Killian fires back, his voice rising as much as it can in a whisper.

"Why are you whispering?" Emma rebuffs, her voice loud. "I don't think it'll matter if the guards hear us, they're already gone! And if they aren't, maybe if they're determined enough to drag us in they'll get us out of here. I like our chances with them a hell of a lot better than our chances to survive in a cave that's flooding! But, fine, blame me for getting us killed. I can't _believe_ you'd-"

"You think I'm blaming you?" Killian replies, his voice raising an octave and increasing in volume. "Of course you would, you're always doubting my intentions, aren't you?"

"That's rich. I've been incredibly trusting, stupidly trusting-"

"You call that trusting?" Killian says in disbelief. "Swan, you seem to act like I'm going to leave you every damn minute I'm given the chance!"

"And I bet you're really wishing you did now that we're fucking flooded in," Emma spits out. The water is past their ankles, but they're too busy arguing to even register it. She's too angry to think about anything other than how very, very furious she is with Killian and herself and this entire goddamn situation."Regretting helping me in the first place, regretting not leaving me when you had the chances, regretting what you said to Marian - whatever the hell that was - though that was probably just lip service for the narrative, wasn't it?"

Killian gapes at her. "You sure know how to properly comprehend a man declaring his affections, you know that?"

Emma scoffs. "Yeah, because that's what that was."

It's just like Emma to get like this, let herself get mind-numbingly stupid when it comes to a pretty face and a reassuring smile - she should've learned that from Baelfire or Walsh, by now. One left her in a dungeon for his crime when she was seventeen and the other joined the queen's guard when she was twenty-five.

And the third, it seems, will end up dying with her in a blocked off cave that's not so slowly filling with water.

It's an amazing track record. The product of True Love, she most certainly completely embodies.

"Emma," he groans. "Swan, just because you didn't want to hear it doesn't mean I didn't mean it-"

"We don't have time for this," Emma points out, sloshing her boots in the flooding at their feet as if the noise will alert him of their situation. "If we don't find a way out of here, we're going to be too dead to argue about anything else."

He huffs in frustration. She can't see him, but she's willing to bet his hand balls up into a fist as his mouth sets in a hard line. Emma knows his mannerisms, by now.

They start searching for ways out, then, trying to find the source of the water that's pouring in because it _has_ to lead to a gap. It does, as it turns out, but it's a gap between two rocks that won't budge no matter how hard the two of them push.

They try the entire cave, pushing and scratching and cursing. The more they try to find a way out and fail, the more their anger turns into desperation.

"It's no use," she mutters in horrific realization as the water reaches her knees. "None of it will budge."

"Don't talk like that, Swan," Killian insists, nearly growls, as he pushes harder against one of the rocks blocking the cave.

He's fighting a losing battle. She doesn't tell him that, though, just tries to push right alongside him.

There's a terse silence between them for a few moments, stilted and heavy, until the water reaches Emma's waist and Killian realizes it's no use fighting the inevitable.

"There's nothing I can do," he says, brokenly, as he tries to look around in his dark surroundings.

"Then we only have minutes before we're out of air," Emma summarizes unsteadily as she tries to gasp out her breaths. Her oxygen hasn't been cut off yet, but she's starting to panic and it's only a matter of time. The water is up to his waist and nearly her chest. It'll only take minutes for it to drown them entirely.

Killian nods morosely. "Aye."

" _Shit._ "

"I-" he stops, his voice thick with emotion, with what she's sure is regret. "I'm so sorry, lass."

Emma feels around, blindly, for something to hold onto at the top of the cave. She finds nothing. "What the hell do you have to be sorry for? I was the one who ran into this death trap first."

"I failed you," he says, raggedly. "I was supposed to keep you safe and I failed you."

"No," Emma contests, shaking her head vehemently. Her panic is rising with the water. The realization that she isn't going to do the one thing she was meant to, to be the Savior, is a bitter one to swallow. She'll never see Ingrid again or meet her parents. She'll never even see Killian again, after she dies with him. All of those possibilities for the future have been torn out from under her. Emma only has herself to blame. "You didn't. This is my fault, not yours."

Killian stares at her for a beat, shaking his head. "Please don't blame yourself for this. I shouldn't have gotten us distracted, said what I - I distracted us from the mission. We can't afford that."

"No," Emma murmurs, biting her lip and resisting shedding the tears that are building up behind her eyes. "We couldn't have. But it wasn't your fault."

Her use of past tense might be her breaking point.

"This is it," she mutters, her voice wavering. "This is...this is really it. No last minute fix for this. No magical solution, no sudden rescue...it's just us. And we're stuck."

Killian shakes his head brokenly, looking anguished. "I want you to know, Emma," he says, voice slow and sure. She still can't see him - she _really_ wishes she could see him - but his hand comes to rest at her shoulder. "I want you to know I didn't regret any of it. I didn't regret coming after you, I didn't regret coming back for you, I don't even regret what I said to Marian. I meant all of it. And I still do."

The water is up to their shoulders, then, and still flowing in at a constant speed. Emma makes a last minute decision, then, caught in the impending doom and the idea of doing something that she should have done a long, long time ago. The mission - whatever it was - is useless now. It's as good as over.

If these are her last moments, she isn't going to have any regrets over what she could have done.

Emma surges forward to kiss him, the water sloshing around them as she does so. He stands shock still for a brief moment, seemingly not knowing what to do, before he envelops her in his arms and responds with all the passion he can muster. Killian groans against her lips, crushing her to him as one of her hands comes up to tangle in his hair.

Her hand presses against the ceiling of the cave, grasping for purchase as his tongue sweeps along her bottom lip, his wet, ringed hand tangled in her hair.

If this is her death, then it could be worse.

Emma presses harder against the spot in the cave, trying to find something to cling onto as he trails his lips along her jaw. He's sucking a spot right where her neck meets her shoulder when she swears she feels something move under her hand. Emma pushes further still, breaking out of her reverie just as Killian moves to kiss her again on the lips, and stills when she feels the rock above her move.

"Wait," Emma gasps out, withdrawing from the kiss as water begins to bob at her chin. He moves his hand down to lift her up further against the back of the cave in an attempt to get her closer to him and further away from the water before it can reach her lips. She wraps her legs around him and grasps at his shoulders - her head nearly bumping against the top of the cave - as she tries to comply with him.

"For what?" Killian asks breathlessly, once more pressing his lips to hers with a groan before breaking himself off so he can continue speaking. "There's no time, love, we have to make the best of what we have. And I..." he rasps the words out inches from her, mouth bumping clumsily against hers. He runs his hand over the contours of her face to make up for not being able to see her, something desperate and needy in the way that he does it. "I intend to do just that."

Emma multitasks with a groan, kissing him with her eyes open and moving to push harder against the loose spot in the earth. A large rock comes loose, tumbling down the outside of the cave and revealing air and light through the gap. She could swear she sees a burst of white with the motion and warmth under her palm.

It's probably just sunlight.

But she _can_ see, now.

Killian is nearly too preoccupied to notice. She's still pressed to him, his prosthetic lifting her up and his hand cupping her head as if his life depends on kissing her.

"Killian," she says, more forcefully as she moves back and gestures behind him. "Look."

Killian's eyes slowly open and he looks at her, his expression soft and reverent. He blinks, once, seemingly realizing the impact of his newfound vision. He turns around and gapes at the sight.

"Looks like we're not dying today," Emma grins, fondly brushing her hand against the hair on his chin. "I think it'll be a big enough gap to crawl out. You want to go first?"

He laughs, the sound deep and full. It echoes in the cave and, though the water is nearly at his chin, the damn thing isn't as intimidating as it was a few seconds ago. "Ladies first," he insists with a broad smile. "I'll even give you a boost."

He does and she carefully scales herself out. Killian follows, only seconds behind her.

"We're alive," she says euphorically, still soaking wet as she embraces him. Killian chuckles in her ear, lifting her up again as her legs lock around his waist, spinning them around in pure glee. She laughs, her head craning down to rest in the crook of his shoulder when he stops. "We did it."

"No," he murmurs, nuzzling into her neck. "No, love, you did it. It seems the Savior has outdone herself this time."

Emma lifts her head up to protest, to say that she got stupidly lucky. The words die in her throat as she stares down at him, though, his gaze unwavering and the affection in his eyes clear. He moves as if to kiss her, again, before stopping himself millimeters from her lips. Emma freezes, tensing her hands on his shoulders as her legs start to move back from his hips. She wishes she could look away from him. She really, really does.

They're still close, extremely close, when her feet touch the ground.

"Apologies," he says slowly, his eyes still intent on hers.

Emma shakes her head, moving her hands from his shoulders. She doesn't step back, though, for reasons unknown to her. One part of her brain - the coherent part - is screaming for her to run away now, certain that she can't handle this and that he'll wait it out until she can. Really, he was right, earlier. They couldn't do anything if they wanted to, can't afford to get distracted. If near death is what happens when they scratch that scab open, that's not exactly another risk they can take. And if Regina got ahold of either of them and knew that they felt...something, it's only a matter of time before she uses them against each other.

They can't.

They shouldn't.

But another part of her mind loudly protests that idea - focused on keeping her right where she is and reminding her that they got free when they were kissing. It's a false correlation, definitely, but this part of her isn't exactly prone to logical decision making. It's the same part that made her kiss him in the first place. It's also telling her - forcefully - that the loud denial of even discussing his admittance prevented them from communicating enough to not get in that cave in the first place.

It's all going to give her a headache. She comes to a compromise, of sorts, not running away but not facing him either. Emma turns around, her back to him, as she threads her hands in her hair anxiously.

Killian rests his hand on her shoulder after a pause, concern evident in just the simple gesture. Emma sighs.

"Are you alright, love?" he asks softly.

Emma turns around to face him, again, thinking she should be brave enough to show him at least this sign of respect. His hand falls limply to his side. "We can't…"

She can't even finish the damn sentence.

Killian seems to understand (always seems to understand, in that annoyingly infuriating way of his) her without even needing the words. He smiles, closed lipped and tight, as he averts his eyes downwards. "We don't have to talk about it, love. Consider it water under the bridge."

Emma hesitates, words almost spilling over her lips. She's internally warring with herself, the two parts of her - the part she doesn't want to put her finger on yet and the part with the overwhelming sense of duty and responsibility - warring for dominance. Duty, it seems, is winning.

The price of being the Savior, she guesses.

"Yeah," Emma agrees, the words leaving a bitter taste in their wake. "Maybe that's for the best."

She still can't get the taste of _him_ out of her mouth.

He nods abruptly, turning around to go right back where they were headed before. They're moving forward, sure, but it feels like they're only going backwards.


	9. Memories

_**A/N: Hey! I hope you guys are having a great Wednesday. I've honestly been so, so overwhelmed by the response to this fic it makes my heart swell? You guys are amazing and so supportive and, guh, thank you so much. This chapter is a little longer than usual (really long, I'm sorry), so hopefully you can hang in there with me. As always, all the thank-yous in the world to Amber (who this fic would not exist without, for real), to Steph (who has been so, so amazingly supportive and brainstorms with me when I get into ruts and GUH I LOVE YOU STEPH), and to Ella (who I love a whole lot and whose encouragement gives me life). All the messages I get I want to print out and keep in a box and just keep that box on me at all times because they all just make me so incredibly happy?**_

 _ **Seriously, thank you.**_

 _ **And I hope you enjoy this chapter!**_

-/-

After the incident - the kiss, labeled more appropriately - things between the two of them get remarkably more tense as they trudge onto the next village.

Killian doesn't even pay much mind to the map, knowing enough of this patch of forest to know it's only a matter of time before they get to the next point of civilization. He's distracted by his thoughts, distracted by his memories, distracted by the sting of cold air on his lips when he so fondly remembers the warmth of the alternative.

And Emma, Emma is very nearly silent. He'll be lucky enough to receive the occasional 'thank you' as he passes a flask of water or feel the weight of her hand on his shoulder when she very nearly trips over something, but that's nearly the extent of it. It's not as angry, not as frustrated as the previous bout of silence. It's tinged with something different, something more. Pining would be an appropriate word on his part, given the way his eyes keep flickering to her when he's certain she isn't looking.

(She catches him nearly every time. Killian doesn't even have the decency to be shamefaced.)

Their travels are no longer marked with occasional quips or his hand at her back, replaced by appropriate distances and half-hearted silence. It's easy for him to get sullen about it, knowing that what he wants - who he wants - he can never have. It's not that he doubts her feelings exist in some form or fashion - no one can kiss like that without feeling it, without meaning it - but that he's sure she's persuaded herself that they're best to ignore. That the quest is too important to be concerned with silly little things like a pirate who'd like nothing more than to hear her moan his name against his lips like she did in that damn cave.

Granted, he's persuaded himself of the same thing. If he's to leave her after this is all over, if they're to go their separate ways once or if Regina gets locked in a box or given a one-way ticket to the Underworld it would hardly do for them to get attached to one another. Or, at least, for her to get attached to him. Killian is quickly realizing he's already past the point of attachment with her, which leaves him desperately trying to quell the bleeding before it becomes outright devotion.

He wonders if the kiss has divided the timeline of their little quest into two: Before the Kiss and After the Kiss. He also - completely coincidentally - wonders if he's losing his mind.

Killian has never thought he'd be so keen on returning to drowning.

(He's always drowning, with her.)

It wasn't as if they weren't capable of comfortable silence in the past, they seemed to work just fine without words much of the time. As much as they loved the sparring, he was amazed at what she could pick up on just from his nonverbal signals. With one tilt of his head she could understand exactly what he meant. Emma, in turn, has always been an open book for him too. The line of her shoulders, the narrowing of her eyes, the curling of her lips were all signals to what she was thinking. If she was planning or lost in memory or relishing in the moment, he could figure it out faster than any riddle.

Now, she's a bit of a blank slate.

It's disconcerting, to say the least.

Killian's hand curls into a fist as he thinks about it, unable to get his thoughts off of her, off of it. He's not frustrated with her, not truly. It'd be unfair to be. She kissed him in the heat of the moment, presumably moments from death. It was a distraction, nothing more, no matter how severe a burn her lips left in their wake. He's frustrated with himself for being so affected.

His fingers come up to his lips at the thought before he begins internally cursing himself for being so bloody sentimental.

-/-

It's not until they get to the village that he realizes what a grave mistake he's made in not referring to his map more frequently. It breaks some fundamental part of a sailor's code of conduct, to not rely on his own cartography. Sailors get lost in many a storm thanks to their own unwillingness and arrogance when it comes to reading for the path ahead. Even aimless wanderers need to know where they're going.

And there's no place for an aimless wanderer to step into like their childhood home.

It's his childhood village, more accurately, and Killian doesn't even realize it until they're well into the market. It's what he gets for being lost in his own thoughts - look at him, already sacrificing the mission and his own sanity thanks to his feelings for the ridiculously infuriating woman next to him.

The village isn't dangerous, really, the likelihood of them being harmed here is the same as almost any other village. It's not that he didn't realize that he'd have to come here, eventually. It was bound to be a place he'd have to visit. The village of his childhood. The place where he both gained and lost everything.

It's what he gets for not paying much attention to his map, Killian supposes.

"What's wrong?" Emma asks, concern evident in the narrowing of her eyes and the downturn of her lips. But perhaps those are markers of suspicion, given the way their connection has gotten jumbled as of late.

He settles on suspicion, especially as the expression on her face becomes more pinched every second he doesn't respond. That, at least, is familiar.

Killian shakes his head dismissively. "Nothing," he says curtly. "Nothing at all."

It even sounds derisive. He cringes at himself, at the callousness of his tone, but Emma remains unaffected.

(Lucky her.)

She just sighs, the only indicator of her irritation, as she trudges onward. They pass a few of their traditional markers in villages, the ones he'd ordinarily overlook. People are milling about the square, there are several places open for business with keepers for them to quiz for information, and there are a few cottages intermixed.

Killian feels as if he's walking among ghosts.

The shop near to his right used to sell flowers (flowers that his mother used to pick up nearly weekly, planting them in her garden with the help of his small hands), the cobble under his feet hasn't changed in the centuries since his father taught him how to use a sword, and that sweet shop he vaguely remembers the taste of is still open.

Perhaps they'll have to skip the inquisition with that one, then.

He notices Emma sending him concerned - and there's no mistaking the concern, now, it's much too soft to be any other alternative - looks. Killian must have gotten lost in thought, lost in memory despite his best efforts. He attempts to mask whatever frown must have fallen on his face, tries to send her the quickest quip he can think up.

"Enjoying the view, Swan?" Killian asks, the smirk on his face nearly straining itself.

"Worrying about it," she answers, frowning. "Are you okay?"

Perhaps she's the only one who became less of an open book. Killian lifts his hand to rub at his beard, a little embarrassed and frustrated that he's revealed himself so thoroughly without saying a word. "I'm fine, love. Just a tad tired, I suppose. It's getting late."

He gestures to where the sun is setting in the horizon, but her eyes are stubbornly set on his.

"If this is about earlier..." Emma trails off hesitantly, biting her lip. "I'm sorry for, um, doing what I did back there."

She's apologizing for kissing him.

As if that's remotely a thing she has to apologize for.

He laughs, unable to help himself. She looks a little offended at the show of it. "Trust me, love, that's the last thing on earth I could complain about."

Killian may have been having several internal crises over it, more or less, but the last thing Emma should be apologizing for is granting him what he's wanted since he set eyes on her. Even if he wasn't willing to admit it, then.

It's just that they both know they're unable to move any more past the kiss, to want any

more than that. Their task is too important to Emma. It's too important to him, too, but he has other reasons he's more afraid of her becoming privy to.

"Fine," Emma exhales sharply, crossing her arms. "Then what is it?"

"It's getting late," he answers without answering, picking up the pace of his strides. "We should find an inn, get some rest."

Emma sighs.

-/-

Ordinarily, he wouldn't have too many complaints about there being only one bed. Killian is used to it, by now. It's more of a (not altogether pleasant) surprise when inns are able to offer them two. While this was quite the positive feature initially, it makes it all the more difficult to maintain distance.

Emma kicks off her boots without saying a word, settling on her side of the bed. They've established respective sides, by now, the right for Emma and the left for him.

He just lingers in the doorway, for a minute, his mind still racing. The kiss revealed something, something he was content to bury. It was one thing for his feelings to exist - he could acknowledge that - but the idea that Emma could return them…

It's a thought he can't entertain. And the return to this village, of all places, further evidence of men he could have been and the man he turned out to be just makes it more difficult. He sighs, stripping off his coat and setting it on a nearby chair.

"You're going to tell me what's wrong," Emma says shortly, sitting up on the bed with her legs crossed. "And you're going to stop this whole brooding, angsty...we're going to talk."

"Are we?" Killian asks with a sigh, leaning against the small desk in the room.

"We are," Emma reiterates. "This isn't going to work if we're just keeping secrets from each other all the time."

"And what is 'this'?" Killian questions dryly.

Emma groans, burying her head in her hands. "Just tell me what's the matter. If it isn't...if it isn't the kiss, it's something else. You were sort of agitated before, but ever since we got into the village it's gotten worse. Please, Killian," she pleads with him, her voice growing softer as she looks up at him, "tell me what the hell is going on."

"I grew up in this village," Killian explains shortly, a bitter smile curling on his lips. "I was born here. Returning...brings back memories I'd rather leave in the past."

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Emma asks, sounding more hurt than angry. The hurt, he decides, is far worse than the alternative. Her anger he can cope with, can give as good as she gives or attempt to calm her with soothing words and encouraging nods. Her hurt is new, revealed after the water washed their masks away and left nothing but raw bone and nerves.

(The thing about sea metaphors is that there's one for every occasion. His mother would be proud.)

"Some of us have pasts we're not particularly proud of," Killian mutters, shaking his head. "This place is a reminder."

"What, did you drown a bunch of village kittens in a well as a kid?" Emma asks sarcastically, raising her eyebrows.

No, just killed people as a 200 year old man. Killian frowns.

Emma sighs, staring at him for a beat. "Alright. That's all I wanted to know, just why. And I still don't think I do, but…" Emma frowns, shaking her head. "You're entitled to your own secrets. I'm not going to pry them from you."

She curls up on the bed, then, tugging the blankets over her and falling asleep within a few minutes. He supposes the day's events were exhausting enough, between nearly dying and kissing and traveling on foot. Killian just stays leaning against the desk for a few minutes after she falls asleep, thinking of the secrets he still has to keep.

The talk of secrets makes his eyes flicker to his satchel, where he's set it next to hers. Killian digs in it, for a moment, pulling out a familiar volume and tossing it on the desk.

Killian sighs, staring at the damn thing where it lies.

He used to be better about keeping a log - a prerequisite to being a proper captain, he's always thought - but now that he's bereft of a ship he'd thought it pointless. He ran out of room in all his journals in Neverland, the small leather volumes incapable of holding centuries. But this, this he'd picked up when he got back. Before Regina, even, a reminder to keep his mind focused on the task at hand. An effort to channel the tasks he'd been forced to complete into his revenge. He's jotted into it occasionally, since, when he's waiting at taverns or restless at inns when Emma is sleeping. Since meeting Emma he's only filled it with minor frustrations, half sketched out plans, and a map folded into it.

It's a wonder the bloody thing just doesn't have _'Kill the Crocodile'_ written in it over and over again. He remembers pages of it in the first journal he filled in Neverland. It got a bit repetitive, so instead he drew out plans for what it would take. The dagger is tricky to get, nearly impossible to find. The dreamshade locked in his ship? Less so, especially as he was stuck in Neverland for upwards of two hundred years. Dip his hook in it, kill the Dark One. The danger is, of course, that he doesn't exactly know the consequences of performing such an action. He doesn't know if killing the Crocodile without the dagger could still lead to him absorbing his power, his darkness, for himself.

If it does, Killian isn't intending to live as a monster for very long.

Which, of course, means he's not intending to live.

If Emma knew his plans, his past, his lack of a future, he's doubtful she'd be understanding. She'd call it a suicide mission and promptly lock him up until he conceded the point. Her grand sense of nobility and her penchant for doing the right thing would be an impediment to him.

Even if she knew that the Crocodile had robbed Milah of her future and crushed her heart when she chose a better one with another man who loved her, who cherished her, who treated her the way she's always deserved to be treated. Even if she knew that he'd cut off his hand and collected it like a macabre trophy. Even if she knew that once Killian had arrived back from Neverland, his blood singing and his heart aching to destroy Rumplestiltskin once and for all, the coward found him and forced him to do his bidding with his heart in his hand.

Killian still hears screaming at night, sometimes. His hook is stained with blood he can no longer see, of those who refused to uphold their end of the deal. Killian would return to his ship a shivering mess every night, ordering his crew to leave and never come back and locking himself in his cabin - barricading himself in as much as he could - as if that would stop the Crocodile's commands from being any more effective. The first six months of his life once he returned from Neverland were marked with murders committed by a hand he could no longer control and a genuine feeling of helplessness.

He'd spent centuries plotting how to eliminate the Crocodile once and for all, how to make him pay for his sins. How to make him feel an ounce of the pain Milah did when her life was stolen from her. Killian wanted to kill him with the hand the man didn't take. Instead, he became his puppet. All it took was the Dark One finding him once he'd gotten wind that the Jolly Roger was in port. The man took his heart from him while he was sleeping, like the coward he's always been. And just like that, a mission that was supposed to end in Rumplestiltskin's death ended with Killian cutting hearts out and killing on his behalf.

That amused the Dark One to no end, he remembers.

The pitiful excuse of a man can't live, he knows that now more than ever. Killian managed to get his heart back with the help of the queen, just barely, promising he'd take Cora's life if it meant regaining his own. After he'd completed that task, Regina had given him firm instruction on further assassinations she'd like for him to complete. In return, she told him she'd help him kill the Dark One once and for all - beginning with the location he fled to after Killian regained his heart. If Killian could figure out where he was, he could surprise him and gain the upper hand - dreamshade to the monster's shriveled up heart.

It's safe to say that after that experience he was hardly open to performing as Regina's puppet. The difference with her, at least, is that when she told him to kill someone he was able to deny her of the request. With Rumplestiltskin, he wasn't as lucky. Regina didn't fulfill her end of the deal. Neither did he.

If Killian doesn't get these thoughts out, they'll torture him. So, he sits down and grabs a quill.

He doesn't get much sleep, that night.

-/-

The next morning, it's back to the task at hand. That means they're off to the shops, carefully poking around for any chance of finding the elusive woman with the tattoo they're so desperately searching for. It goes as well as it always has, which is to say not well at all. The continued failure of his method to yield any results just makes him more frustrated, makes his steps more agitated and Emma's brow more furrowed. Killian paints on a smile, of course, for her sake and for the sake of the shopkeepers and their continued facade as a happy couple.

Everything is so familiar, so achingly familiar, in buildings that he faintly remembers but that he hardly recognizes at all.

He about has it when they arrive at the damn place that used to be his mother's favorite flower shop. It's a pawn shop of sorts now, of course it is, because the place where people get rid of their belongings in exchange for gold is a fitting remodel of where his mother used to get orchids. Killian's eyes clench shut and his hand tightens in Emma's almost painfully when they step through the door.

Emma shoots him a look - alarmed at his sudden anxiety - and stills. The poor woman must be getting tired of him, his sullen mood must be growing old. She steps in front of him, hand still in his. "Hey, we don't need to do this," she murmurs, just loud enough for him to hear. "If this is too much...I get it, Killian. We can go somewhere else."

He lets her hand go, splaying out his fingers and tightening them into a fist once her hand falls. "I'm fine, Swan."

"No, you're not," she reprimands carefully. "Killian, we can leave. We don't have to do this right now."

"Yes," he insists, his jaw clenched. He can't atone for all he's done, but he can at least put on a show to get her closer to what she needs, get him closer to what he needs. "I do.'

Emma frowns.

The shopkeeper clears his throat, behind her, quickly growing tired of what must seem to the outsider viewer as a lover's spat. "Can I help you two or are you just going to argue in my shop?"

Emma grimaces, her eyes going to his for confirmation. Killian nods. "Sorry. We just..."

"We just were fighting over which of her brothers to invite to the ceremony, is all," Killian slips into the part seamlessly, setting his prosthetic on her back and giving the shopkeeper a grin that's almost maniacal. "I'm not fond of Jarod, personally, but she insists that every one of her family members needs to be there when we marry."

Emma doesn't seem as keen on keeping up appearances, today, too on edge by the unbalanced performance he's giving by the looks of it. Let her be, if she knew the full extent of all he'd done she'd be far more uncomfortable than that. No longer would he be privy to the feeling of her hand in his - even if only for the purpose of a farce - if she knew what his hand had done.

His arm tightens around her waist. Pirates, by nature, are greedy creatures. If this is the best he can hope for, Killian will take all he can get.

Emma steps out from his arms in the next minute and he lets her go.

"Do you have any engagement rings, by any chance?"

It's that old con. He shakes his head derisively, eyes looking for anything else to focus on aside from the fact that he'll never genuinely have any of this and the realization that his mother's memory can't even be recognized in the places she used to love the most. Killian's eyes flicker to an odd piece of jewelry hanging in a display, the sound of Emma's voice fading into the background. It's a strange design, in the shape of a star and hanging loosely on the chain. He brings his hand up to it curiously, analyzing what looks to be nothing but a cheap bauble.

Killian sighs, running his fingers over the small star, and he lets his thoughts run despite his best efforts to restrain them. He thinks of Emma, how she retreated after the kiss. He thinks of the Crocodile, what he took and what he forced. He thinks of his mother, who died in a manner that didn't befit her - her husband was out drinking and all she had was a son at her beside who didn't know what the bloody hell to do. And he suddenly very, very much wishes he could just forget. Forget the misery, forget the pain he's caused, forget the false hope that Emma inspires in him with every uptick of her mouth.

And then he collapses.

-/-

Emma turns around, startled, at the sound of a loud thud behind her. She's horrified to see the cause of it - Killian lying prone on the floor of the shop. Emma sends a panicked look to the shopkeeper, who doesn't seem to have a better idea of what's going on than she does, and quickly moves to try to wake Killian up.

Emma slumps to her knees next to him, attempting to shake him awake and failing. He's out cold, from the looks of it, for no apparent reason. Emma moves his head into her lap and her fingers down to feel for his pulse and nearly cries in relief when she finally feels one. He's alive. He's just unconscious.

"Killian, Killian," she murmurs, shaking him again for good measure. "C'mon. Wake up. Now is not the time for a nap."

He's unconscious and not waking up. Emma turns around to face the shopkeeper, frenetic "What the hell happened to him?"

"I have no idea," the man says defensively, raising his hands. "I was talking to you when he fell, you know that."

"He didn't just pass out on his own," Emma grits out accusingly. "You did something, you had to."

"Maybe he touched something he wasn't meant to," he suggests, raising his eyebrows.

"I need to get him to the inn," she mutters, unwilling to spend any more time arguing with him. If Killian doesn't wake up - and that thought is too dark for her to even linger on - she knows exactly who to blame. "Can you help me?"

The shopkeeper stutters, for a moment, at the scene in front of him. "I-"

"Please," Emma begs, her hand tightening on Killian's. "Help me. He's all I have," she says the words with a pitiful desperation, gasping them out. And she means them, this time. They're not part of the act, she isn't some smitten newlywed brushing noses with her husband - she's a woman whose best hope is lying prone in her lap for no apparent reason. He could be poisoned. He could be -

She stops those thoughts in their tracks.

"Please," she repeats. "Help me."

-/-

It takes him almost a half hour to wake up once she gets him to the inn, one of his arms slung around her shoulder and another around the reluctant shopkeeper's, but he does. She spends the time until he does running her fingers through his hair with his head in her lap, too worried to leave him alone. She feels unbearably grateful when he flutters his eyes open.

"Killian," she exhales, her voice overwhelmed with her relief as she brushes her hand over the top of his cheek. "I was so worried you wouldn't wake up. You scared the hell out of me," Emma sniffles, despite herself, hoping he doesn't comment on the tears. She swore she wouldn't come to this, wouldn't screw the both of them over by caring this much. But he wasn't waking up no matter how much she shook him and it felt like being punched - repeatedly - in the gut.

Killian just leans into her touch with a sigh, groaning. In pain or in confusion, she can't tell. His eyes clench shut, again, and she worries.

"Hey," she coos softly, turning his head so he'll face her. "Hey, Killian, it's okay. I'm right here."

This seems to catch his attention, at least. Killian's eyes flutter open, long lashes giving way to blue eyes.

"You're quite beautiful, aren't you?" he asks, dumbfounded, as he stares up at her. Killian looks positively mystified. Also, he looks positively insane.

"Ha, ha," Emma replies in a monotone, her voice not lending itself to any trace of humor. "Very funny, Killian. You pass out and your first waking thought is to hit on me. Seriously, you scared the hell out of me."

She waits for the witty reply. It doesn't come.

Emma frowns, staring down at a, decidedly lost, Killian.

"Have we met before, lass?" he asks, squinting as if this will help his ability to recognize her. "I swear I've seen you before, somewhere, but…"

Emma grits her teeth, withdrawing her hand from his. "You have got to be kidding me. This isn't funny, Killian. Knock it off."

"How do you know my name?" Killian questions as he sits up. "That is my name, correct? Killian?"

He's not joking. Her lie detector can tell her that much. Emma's heart feels like it drops to the pit of her stomach, her eyes flickering between the door and his confused expression. What the hell did he touch?

Killian seems to answer that question, then, his right hand unclenching to reveal a necklace in his grip. She hadn't bothered to check, she was more worried about him waking up. "What the bloody hell is this?"

At least his vocabulary hasn't changed, much. It's a small consolation to the panic that's slowly overtaking her.

"Yes, you're Killian. You just forgot - damn it - you forgot everything, it looks like. Just," Emma says, her voice quickly becoming more frenetic as she takes the necklace from him. She needs to talk to the shopkeeper. She needs to leave. She needs him not to run away in the meantime. "Stay here, alright? In this room. I'll be right back, I just need to-"

"Where am I?" Killian asks, his voice slowly giving way to panic. Given that he doesn't even know who the hell he is, she can't blame him. His hand grabs hers before she can step away, clinging to it.

"Please," Emma begs him, squeezing his hand. "Just trust me, alright? I'll be right back. I need to figure out what made you lose your memories so I can get them back."

"You'll be back?" Killian repeats, his voice sounding small as he stares at their joined hands.

"Yeah," she reassures him firmly. "If I'm not back in an hour, I…" Emma curses, unable to come up with another alternative. "I'll be back in an hour, okay?"

"Alright," he repeats, sounding remarkably - understandably - lost.

-/-

She runs to the shop, not willing to waste a second. When she pants in the doorway, the shopkeeper looks up to the sky as if he's asking the gods why they'd chosen to forsake him today.

"What do you want?" The man grimaces, dropping the broom he's sweeping with. "I helped you get him into the inn. That's more than a lot of people in my position would do."

Emma holds up the necklace pointedly.

The shopkeeper curses. "Of course."

"What the hell is this?" Emma asks, her eyebrows raising pointedly. "Because I've got an amnesiac who doesn't know the first thing about who he is in my room and I'm going to need him to to start remembering. He had this in his hand."

"Looks like he got what he wished for," the shopkeeper grumbles.

"What do you mean he got what he wished for?" she repeats in disbelief. "Is it permanent? How do I get him back?"

"This charm causes the holder to get his or her current wish granted to them," the peddler says, gesturing to the necklace she holds in her hand. "It could be their weight in gold, it could be a child, it could be a reunion...it'll grant the first wish that it's presented with."

Emma's heart sinks. "So, what? He wanted to forget everything? Who he was, where he was…" she trails off, biting her lip. "Me?"

"It could be a fleeting thought, which is what makes the pendant so tricky," he explains slowly. "It doesn't have to be a deeply held one, just the first one that pops into the holder's mind."

That scares Emma, a little, and she drops the pendant to the table over which she's talking to the shopkeeper.

"The good news is that every one is made unique," he says, eyeing where she's dropped the pendant. "Which means only the initial wisher can make wishes with it. It also means that you've effectively _completely drained_ a necklace I paid a lot of gold for of its value."

"Yeah, well, that's your fault for not properly labeling your merchandise," Emma huffs, crossing her arms. "Or locking it up. Who leaves a magical wishing necklace out for anyone to grab?"

"People who hardly expect visitors to paw at everything," the shopkeeper says lowly. "I should charge you for that necklace, you know. Now this thing is useless."

"And now so is Killian," she huffs. "I think we're pretty even, pal. How do I undo it?"

"It's a bit trickier than that," the shopkeeper explains with a sigh, shaking his head. "Your betrothed will need to make a wish, see. He'll have to wish his memories back."

"That's not that hard," Emma replies, her face scrunching up in confusion. "Just give the thing to him and tell him to wish for his memories."

"I'm afraid it won't be that easy. If he was that focused on forgetting it all, I can't imagine it'll be a simple task to make him want to regain them."

"You just said it could've been a fleeting wish."

"Fleeting or not, some people have memories they may be better off without," he drawls, putting the pendant towards him. "Perhaps you need to remind him of the good parts, then, in his memories. You're his adoring future wife. If that won't get him hopeful and willing, I don't know what will."

Except that she _isn't_ his adoring future wife, she's the woman who kissed him then pushed him away. Emma frowns.

-/-

"Hey," she greets, entering the room at the inn with hesitantly. His back is hunched and his head is bent down and the sight makes her stomach twist. "The good news is that I figured out what happened."

"Who's Milah?" Killian asks, rather than replying to her statement. He's staring at his arm, holding his sleeve up with his prosthetic. "Is that...you?"

"Milah," Emma repeats the foreign name, confused. She tucks the necklace back into her pocket."I have no idea. Why?"

Killian walks over to her, then, lifting his forearm in front of her eyes. Sure enough, there's the name 'Milah' written across what looks to be a familiar dagger. Emma squints, her hand coming up to cup his arm to get a closer look.

"Why do you have a tattoo with a woman's name on the Dark One's dagger?" Emma asks, more to herself than him. She brushes her fingers over it, lightly, eyeing the design of it as if it will give her any sort of hint.

"You don't know then," he surmises with a frustrated sigh, letting his sleeve come back down to cover it. He jerks his arm down and she frowns. "I don't even bloody know who the Dark One is."

"Hey," Emma murmurs, her hands running up and down his arms. She's trying to be reassuring. By the still agitated look on his face, she's failing.

"What's your name?" He asks suddenly, the tension in his shoulders dissipating slightly as Emma's hands run over them.

"Emma Swan," she tells him, the corner of her lips turning up. "And you're Killian Jones."

"What are we to each other?" he asks, eyes hesitantly meeting hers.

Emma's mouth parts, eyes searching his for any clue of where to go from here. It's hopeless, really, to try to look for direction in someone who needs it so desperately from her. "We're…"

She fumbles with her words, unsure of how to even vocalize what they've become to each other. Allies? Friends? Something else entirely?

His face falls, then, so she grabs his hand as if to reassure him. He stares at their joined hands - for a minute - enraptured and baffled all at once. Emma just twines her fingers in his and exhales. "Partners. We're partners."

"Are we close?" he asks, the words coming out in a breathless staccato.

She grins, a little, at that. "Very."

Which isn't a lie. Of all the people she's ever been close with who aren't her mother, Killian easily tops the list. There's almost no one that knows her better.

"Really?" his voice takes on the high pitch of surprise, his irritation giving away to a little bit of hopefulness.

"Really," she reiterates.

His hand clasps hers a little more tightly, running his thumb over her knuckles. "And how did I become lucky enough to engender the partnership of such a beautiful woman?"

Emma rolls her eyes. Of course, even without his memories, Killian goes from confused and distraught to flirting like there's no tomorrow. "It's a really long story."

"Then explain it to me," he pleads, his blue eyes searching hers. "You're my only...I don't know anything else about who I am, what's happening."

She could just push the necklace into his hand, now, and demand that he wish to go back to normal.

But the shopkeeper was right. He has to want it. He has to know at least vaguely what his life is like.

So, Emma gives him an abridged version. She tells him that he's Captain Hook, cutthroat pirate of the seven seas, and he laughs in disbelief until he realizes just how much she isn't kidding. Emma tells him that he's brave and he's loyal and he's good-hearted, as much as he tries to cover it up with innuendo and a false veil of arrogance. Emma tells him she's the Savior, whatever that even really means, and the way he looks at her when she does makes her heart thrum loudly in her ears. She tells him about Lancelot and Guinevere and Rapunzel and even about little Grace.

And this is ridiculous, the entire thing is ridiculous. She's trying to tell a man who's forgotten everything who he is when she isn't even entirely sure.

(But she's sure he's a good man, sure he's a pain in her ass sometimes, sure she cares about him and maybe that's enough.)

Killian just sits there and listens, nodding occasionally and smiling at all the right parts.

"Sounds like a grand adventure," he says finally, once she's finished talking about Marian and Robin. She leaves out the confession and the kiss, feeling a little guilty for not telling him about things he would probably rather forget.

"Yeah," Emma nods. "It is. And if we want it to continue, we need to get you your memories back."

"And we…" Killian trails off, clearing his throat and looking down. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was blushing. It's a rapid change of a pace for a man who was sulking just hours before. "We return to fighting side by side, on some grand quest," he chuckles, meeting her eyes again hesitantly, "like some sort of storybook heroes."

Emma laughs, shaking her head. "Not quite."

His eyes are shining with their own mirth, his lips upturned. It's only then that she notices how close they're getting, hovering only inches from each other. Emma's eyes flicker up to meet his, questioningly, but she doesn't move.

Killian presses his lips to hers hesitantly. The kiss is soft, gentle, questioning and Emma is so surprised by it she can't even think of all the reasons that she shouldn't (definitely shouldn't) be doing this. She kisses him back, sweeping her tongue across his bottom lip, and he groans. His arms tighten around hers, adjusting her in his lap, and it takes a few moments for her body to catch up to her brain's insistence for her to stop this.

She pulls back from his as if she's been shocked, lips tearing away from his.

"We can't do this," she exhales shakily, as he stares at her with a mixture of awe and confusion. "We really, really can't do this."

"I thought…" he trails off, uncertainly obvious in his voice. His cheeks are tinged pink and the tips of his ears are bright red. "I had assumed we were involved, the way you talked about us. The way you looked at me when I woke up, I remember. And your kiss," his hand comes up to feel his lips, "Your kiss felt familiar."

"Um," she mutters, shaking her head. "Once."

"Only once?" Killian asks, sounding perfectly earnest. "We seem to know one another much better than that, as you say."

"It's complicated," Emma summarizes, feeling the panic flutter in my stomach. It was _yesterday_.

"And why must it be?"

"Listen," Emma sighs, shaking her her head. "We need to get your memories back, alright? You need to wish for your memories back, I have this necklace...I can explain it before you do it. Then we can talk about everything, what it means and what it doesn't and-"

"I don't even know who I am, lass," he emphasizes. "How am I supposed to wish to return to a man I don't know?"

Emma groans, burying her head in her hands.

"Do I have any possessions?" Killian asks, curiously. "Anything I can use to...anything?"

Emma gestures to the satchel hanging by the desk. "There's that."

Killian stands up and lifts it, rummaging in it for a few moments. He finds a few possessions. His hook, for one, is the first thing he pulls out. He nearly pricks his hand in the process. A few blankets are next, along with a pouch of gold, a quill without an inkpot, and a leather bound volume. He lingers on the journal, his thumb running over the cover of it.

Killian lifts it up towards her. "Does this appear familiar at all to you?"

Emma shakes her head.

His brow furrows. He takes the journal with him - a captain's log, is her best guess - as he sits down beside her on the bed. Killian flips it open. "He's written in it," he murmurs, his fingers tracing over curly, elegant handwriting.

Emma forces herself to look away, unwilling to violate his privacy. "That's good, at least. Your own words can probably help you more than mine."

He nods. And he reads for a a few minutes, the only sound between them the turning of pages and their breathing. He chuckles under his breath, a few times. He becomes more serious, others. By the time he's gotten to the end of what he's written, he seems contemplative.

He looks up at her. Emma gives him her best reassuring smile. "I didn't know you kept a log but...did it help?"

"Aye," he murmurs quietly, nodding. "I believe it did."

"Good," she exhales, twining her fingers together. "That's good. I'm glad to hear that."

"You should read this," Killian says softly, pressing the journal into her hands. It's open midway through.

Her fingers wrap around the leather and she looks up at him questioningly, her eyes unwilling to look at the words. "What?"

"You should read it," he repeats, his eyes tender and his voice quiet. "You're mentioned. You deserve to see it."

Emma frowns, shaking her head and closing the book. Her fingers barely keep the section he had it opened to marked. "Killian, I'd be violating your privacy."

"Read it," he murmurs again.

So she does, but only from the section he first opened to. At first, the entries are light. Funny, even, beginning with when he was working with Geppetto and moving onwards.

' _Emma Swan,'_ one page reads, _'is the Savior. I'm incapable of fleeing the queen and those associated with her for the life of me, it seems. I'm doubtful the Savior is even real, but the queen seems to think so.'_

She flips forward, a few pages.

' _Emma's selfless sense of heroism amazes me continuously,'_ is scratched out and replaced with _'The Savior could stop to save a kitten from a tree, at this rate, making us even more behind schedule'_.

Emma snorts, shaking her head. He's really not one to talk.

The content gets less light, though, as time goes on. There are a few sketches of the box, a few markings on what villages they've visited and which ones they need to get to next. And then there's a long entry, the last one.

' _Not enough for her,'_ it reads, the words impressed so hard on the parchment that it must leave behind indentions on the pages behind it. Her eyes skim down a few lines. ' _If she knew what I've done, what the Crocodile made me do, she'd surely detest me.'_ Killian talks about Neverland, about Pan, about coming back to the Enchanted Forest only to become Rumplestiltskin's puppet. He writes the names of the people he's been forced to kill - over a dozen of them - as if putting them down would help absolve him of the guilt.

It's not his guilt, in the first place. It's Rumplestiltskin's, as far as Emma is concerned.

Emma closes the journal, a little shakily. Killian looks at her, seeming to share her anxiety. "Was he right?"

She doesn't have to ask what he means by that. "No," she murmurs, shaking her head. "He was wrong. I'd never blame him for something he didn't have control over, like that. I don't know why he thinks I would."

There's a tense pause, for a beat.

"I'm glad to hear that."

He grabs the journal, then, flipping it open again.

"He wrote about his childhood home, a bit, here," Killian mutters, flipping through the pages until he finds what he's looking for. He stands up to pace, agitated. "Or, I did, rather. Perhaps we could find it? He's specific about how to get there."

Emma frowns, slightly. "What if it's...occupied?"

Killian stills. "Perhaps just seeing the outside of it...I don't know," he sighs in frustration, sitting down on the bed and dropping the journal beside him. "I don't seem to know much of anything."

"Hey," she says reassuringly, moving to sit beside him and running her hand up and down his back. "We'll figure it out, okay? We'll go. And then we'll see what to do, from there."

He nods.

-/-

The home that was apparently once his - secluded from the rest of the village - is abandoned. It looks as if it's been that way for quite a while. It's not quite falling apart, but it's surely neglected. His best guess is that there hasn't been an occupant there in a few decades rather than a few centuries, but perhaps there's something he can recognize, something he can hold onto here.

Killian is quickly growing very tired of not feeling as if he's real, not feeling as if any of this is real. Emma is patient and understanding and wonderful in ways even his words on paper can't convey, but this is something he needs to do, something he needs to see, something he needs to feel. Killian has to find any evidence of the man he is before deciding if he'd even like to become him. The journal, while informative, doesn't exactly paint his life in the best light.

(He meets Emma's eyes as he crosses the threshold and he thinks it might be worth it, just for this. The notion that wherever he goes, she'll be a step behind is an assuring one.)

(But, evidently, there are some places that Killian doesn't want her to follow. Including his own death, from the looks of it.)

He groans in time with the wood under his feet.

"What's wrong?" Emma asks, her eyes flitting over the interior of the cottage.

"This is it," he murmurs, eyes tracing over the walls, the panels of the wood, the ground at his feet. He's aching for a sense of familiarity, a clue to who he is. He holds the journal a little firmer in his grip. "This was my home, I think."

Killian feels it in echoes, he thinks. The same way he felt the familiarity of Emma's kiss, he can imagine the words he'd put to page. The living room where his father had taught him to tie knots (he can't picture the man's face, but feels certain the spot he's standing in is the very one he described).

"They're all dead," he murmurs, the knowledge of it sinking into his bones. The house is falling apart, covered in dust, and the family he doesn't remember fled it long before that. He and his father were described as the last people to occupy it, after his mother left and his brother went to the academy - an opportunity on a naval ship to recruit young boys into service. After he was abandoned, he must have not had the opportunity to come back to it.

Emma frowns, lines marring her face.

"He wrote about his mother," he mutters, moving the journal to be propped up by his prosthetic hand and skimming his real one along the walls. "His father - terrible man that he was - and his brother. My brother. They're all mine, though I hardly…" he lets out a sigh of frustration. "They hardly feel like it. Feels like another lifetime entirely, reading about it."

Emma just stands behind him, listening. Frankly, she's the only thing that feels somewhat real to him at the moment.

"I want to remember," he says, turning to her. And he does, he aches to recognize the man whose body he's occupying more than anything. "Can you…" Killian sounds pitifully small and dreadfully lost. "Can you help me?"

Emma nods.

-/-

They go back to the inn, once Killian has sufficiently explored his old, dilapidated home with Emma at his side. Emma is mainly worried about him passing out again when he makes his second and final wish. She doesn't exactly want to ask for help dragging his body, again. It'd be even more difficult to enlist help in the middle of nowhere.

The middle of nowhere that held his childhood home, though. The place couldn't have been recognizable even to people without amnesia, in the shambles it was in, but Killian had looked so haunted. So sad, so lost, and it's echoed in the words he'd written even with his memories.

"Give me the necklace," he says, quietly, sitting down on their bed at the inn.

Emma rummages in her pocket as she sits beside him, pulling out the small star pendant and letting it hang on its chain.

Killian reaches for it, but Emma pulls back, hesitating.

She can't be selfish. She has to think of what he wants, what he needs. And it could be a life without her, without all the ghosts that continue to haunt him.

"First I need to know if you can accept all of that," Emma asks, her voice wavering a little. "The ugliness of all of it - your family and all the horrible things that the Dark One has done? Can you live with it?"

"I think," he begins hesitantly, a contemplative look on his face. This incarnation of him is so hesitant, so cautious. Killian seems to war between instinct and confusion - kissing her only to turn abashed when she breaks apart, fixing his eyes on her then looking away when she notices, and trying to vocalize feelings he doesn't even entirely understand. "I think you might make it a little more bearable, love. At least, he seems to feel that way."

Emma shakes her head quickly, unwilling to give him any false impressions. "Killian, I don't know what you're-"

"I know," he says, a soft, sad smile on his lips. "I know the circumstances hardly allow for the both of you - the both of us, now there's an idea," he laughs, the gesture free from the burdens that have been wiped from his mind. "They don't allow for us to be together at the present moment. But I think it's quite enough for Killian Jones to continue to fight right by your side."

"Really?" Emma asks skeptically, her voice a little small. "You have a once in a lifetime opportunity to have a clean slate, free from all of this. You can have a normal life here, more or less, if I set you up right. I could probably get you back to Geppetto, you could…" her voice trails off, her throat tightening. She swallows, hard. "You could start over. Most people would kill for that chance."

"Most people don't have Emma Swan, Savior of the realm, on their side," Killian murmurs, grinning as his forehead drops to meet hers.

Emma shakes her head in disbelief. "You don't even know me."

"Oh," he contests, humming as he brings his hand down to brush the hair out of her face, a gesture so familiar it aches, "but I do, Emma. I wake up and the first thing I see is you, peering down at me with an expression full of worry. I know you through the words he put to the page. I know you by the way you stood with me in a broken down home of a broken down man, Swan, never complaining in the hopes that he could - that I could - break through to you."

"I could need you for the mission," she suggests, shaking her head against his. "How do you know?"

Killian laughs. "No one looks at a mission like that, love. I may be lost, but I'm not stupid."

"It's an important mission," she contests.

"There's nothing about the way you kissed back that was mission-oriented, lass," he replies, raising his eyebrows. His neck must be hurting from craning his head down to rest his forehead against hers, but he doesn't seem to complain.

Emma snorts. "Who said I kissed back?"

"You did when I kissed you," Killian replies, a bit of his old bravado shining through. His mouth hovers near hers, centimeters away from closing the gap between them. "And I'm sure that if we-"

Emma ducks her head down, his lips brushing across her cheek before she leans back. "Point proven," Emma tugs the wishing star out of her pocket, dangling it in front of him. "If you still want all of this, this life...you're going to really have to wish for it, you know."

"I don't think there's much more than you a man could ever wish for," he grins, taking the necklace before she can give him a proper reply.

This time, when he falls, Emma is able to catch him before he so much as hits the bed.

-/-

" _Please don't wish for a self-filling rum flask, please don't wish for a self-filing rum flask, please don't wish for a-"_

These are the first words he hears as he begins to wake.

"Alright, Swan," Killian grumbles as he opens his eyes to meet hers. She grins, a little, and he wonders how he could have ever forgotten her. He sits up, lifting his head from her lap, and looks around the room dramatically. "My, my, this isn't what I pictured when I wished to be married to the crown princess. I've always wanted to be a prince, see."

She gapes, for a moment, until he bursts into laughter. Emma isn't the only one who can take advantage of an opportunity.

Emma glances down at her hand for a ring that isn't there, just in case. Killian's grin widens as she scowls. "I hate you."

"You're quite fond of me, as I recall," he goads.

Emma shrugs. "You're okay. Speaking of, are you feeling okay? Lightheaded? Queasy? Amnesic?"

"Well rested, believe it or not," he quips.

"That's reassuring," Emma murmurs, her hand coming up to rest along his face. "No headache or anything? All that information at once is bound to make…"

"I'm fine, Swan," he reassures her. "Especially after that kiss you gave me."

Emma rolls her eyes. "You kissed me, loverboy."

"Ah, but you kissed back," he teases her, his tone lilting. "Surprised poor Killian Jones without his memory, slipping tongue in like that."

Emma whacks him in the shoulder playfully. "Shut up. You got pretty poetic, there, even barely knowing your own name. I didn't know memory loss made such poets of men, really."

"Oh," Killian hums. "Not poets. Just you."

Emma laughs, shaking her head. Killian grins right back at her, tucking her hair behind her ears before Emma's face becomes a little more serious.

"We need to talk," Emma murmurs, her gaze falling down on the bed they're sitting on. "Really talk."

"I find I'm never in a good position when a woman says that," he says, aiming for levity and failing.

"I'm sorry I read your journal," she says, ignoring him and gesturing to where the volume lies on the desk. "I shouldn't have done that."

"I told you to," Killian shrugs, though he feels the familiar vestiges of panic at the idea of where she could be going with this. "I can hardly fault you for following my commands."

"You told me without your memories," Emma corrects, frowning. "That's hardly fair."

"I've often found that life isn't," Killian smirks, keeping on a mask of bravado for the sake of his own sanity. If this is the conversation she wishes to have, it's a commodity that's going to be difficult to retain. "Anyone who tells you differently is selling you something."

"Wise," Emma deadpans. She sighs, for a minute, trailing her hands up and down her thighs as if trying to steel herself to talk. "I shouldn't have read it, but I did. And I know what you said. About you not being good enough, about everything that happened with the Dark One. How you think I'd hate you, after reading that."

"You'd be right to. After all that I've done," he trails off, snorting derisively. "I'd hardly fault you for it."

"Hey," Emma protests, reaching her hands out to grab his. Her thumb runs over his wooden hand and he stares at it for a beat, stunned she'd bother with a gesture of reassurance with a hand he can't even feel with. Killian blinks.

"Hey," Emma repeats, pulling his hands until he's closer to her. "He was controlling you, unless you're the type to lie to your diary. And if you do that, that might actually be more embarrassing than mass murder-"

Emma tries for a joke, tries to lighten the mood, but he just stares at her. Killian is a little shocked by her reply. Sure, he'd known she'd read the journal and woken up with that knowledge, had the thought twist in his sides once he realized the full impact of what the idiot without his memories had done. But, he'd assumed she'd pushed past it for the sake of the mission, intent on doing the Right Thing - as Saviors do.

"You still think that, don't you?" Emma asks, reading his thoughts so easily they may just be a journal flipped open for her. "That I'd hate you for that? That if I can look past it, it's just because I need you to go after Regina?"

Killian gives her a tight-lipped smile. "Could hardly blame you, love."

Emma scoffs, shaking her head as she drops his hands. "You know, for someone so old and wise, you can be really stupid, sometimes. You were being controlled, Killian. From what I read, it just about killed you to do. When you talked about being controlled, back when we were helping Aurora, you told me you'd rather be dead than have it happen again. You really think I'm going to look at that and call you a monster?"

"I would," he replies shortly, his gaze going to his boots.

"Yeah, well, then you're an idiot," she replies shortly, patting the space beside her. "And you know less about me than I thought. If even you without your memories can see that more clearly than you can right now…"

"Was he right?" Killian asks suddenly, his eyes snapping up to meet hers. "About what he said?"

"About me caring?" Emma asks, her voice softening. "Of course I care."

Killian's heart pangs at her words. He moves to sit beside her. "I suppose you've figured out, by now, that I feel something for you as well."

Emma just sighs, dropping her head to his shoulder. "You don't have to…"

"I know you read it all already," he murmurs, clenching his eyes shut. "But I meant it. Every word."

Emma pauses, biting her lip. "You aren't," she hesitates, carefully parsing her next words. "You're not the only one who feels that way, Killian. About not being enough, about not being good enough - not just for...that, but in general."

The notion of her, Emma Swan, Savior of the cursed and the damned and every stray who crosses her path (including him), not being enough for anyone is ludicrous enough for him to laugh. And he does, nearly wheezing with the force of it.

Emma's jaw drops and she looks slightly offended. Killian shakes his head, unable to get words out, doubled over with laughter. He means quite directly the opposite of what she must be thinking. He finally manages to tell him as much. "Swan, you're more than enough for anyone - you have more goodness in your pinky finger than most people have in their entire body."

Emma frowns. "That's not-"

"It is," he contests. "No matter your flaws, you're a good woman, Emma Swan."

"The point I'm trying to make," Emma says finally, moving her hand to rest over his heart, "is that you're enough, Killian. You're a good man. You're a caring man. And no matter what you might think of yourself, know that I believe that."

Killian looks at her and he thinks that maybe he could be.

"Look at you, love," he hums, shaking his head. "Kind even to the undeserving."

"You know, for someone who acts like they're more narcissistic than Narcissus himself, you're way too humble," Emma mutters, sliding her hand from his chest to wrap around her arms around his shoulders in an embrace. "Seriously, too humble."

He hums, wrapping his arms around her in turn.

"So," Emma sighs, pulling back and looking up at him with a sort of hopefulness that makes his heart skip a beat. "Can we work, like this? Together? Can we just push...our feelings aside and focus on what we have to?"

It's a bittersweet resolution, if you can call it one at all. They can acknowledge the feelings they may have for one another - the admittance from Emma is enough to make his heart sing and his shoulders sag all at once - and they still focus on the mission. At the very least, it'll stop them from getting too dependent on one another.

At least, this is the hope. In practice, it may be more challenging.

He's thankful he didn't include what he has to do, once this is all over, in his log. If he's to engage in what's surely a suicide mission, Killian can't promise her a future. And this, this isn't asking for one. It's the best solution they can hope for.

"Aye," he murmurs, nodding as he pushes a section of hair back from her face. "That we can."

Emma nods, a conflicted expression on her face. "We can't…"

"You won't find me arguing," he concedes, even as the panging in his chest loudly protests the idea.

Emma presses her lips to his cheek, softly and hesitantly. It's a friendly gesture, he's sure she's rationalizing. They can't have the alternative, but perhaps they can just cling onto this.

Killian's eyes close, relishing the feeling. Maybe this will be enough.

When she pulls back, she skims her thumb along his face, her eyes tender as she looks at him. "Thank you, Killian."

(It will never be enough.)

-/-

There's one spot he'd like to visit before they move on, he tells her. And, given this is the place he hasn't had the shot at seeing since his childhood, she can hardly deny him of the opportunity. Killian tells her that he can go alone, that she needn't come if she doesn't want to.

Emma just looks and him and tells him that she'll follow him wherever he wants to go.

They end up at a cemetery. It's cold and it's snowing, the flakes sticking to their hair and coats. She tightens her coat around herself, grateful for the protection it offers. Killian stops every few steps to wipe away the snow on a few headstones to reveal names, grimacing when the motion doesn't reveal what he'd like it to. They finally stop after about ten minutes of searching.

He stares down at the headstone, a grim expression settling on his face. "This is my mother's."

Her eyes widen, darting between him and the grave that reads _'Elizabeth Jones'_. "Your... I'm so sorry, Killian."

Killian shakes his head, quickly. "It's fine, love. Happened quite a while ago, see. I was only a lad at the time."

Emma bites her lip, detecting the lie when she hears it. He isn't lying about the age he was when his mother died, no. Just that it's fine when it's not. She decides to grant him the dignity of not being called out on it.

Instead, she uncrosses her arms - ignoring the chill of the cold - and grabs his hand with hers, interlacing their fingers together. Killian releases a harsh breath at the gesture, as if he's dislodging the tension he's been holding. His hand tightens on hers, squeezing it for a brief moment.

"Your hands are cold," is all he says, still staring at the headstone. His voice breaks on the last word and she pretends not to notice.

"Do you want to be alone?" she asks, voice so quiet he must have a hard time hearing her.

"No," he answers, his reply almost as hushed as hers. "No, I...I want you here."

"Then I'll be here. Always."

His next few breaths are decidedly ragged. Emma can't tell if it's because of her response, the fact that he's standing at the grave of his mother, or a combination of the two.

"And I you," he says, finally. "We can," he coughs, then, looking down at his feet and the snow. "We can leave, if you want."

Emma shakes her head, her hand still holding his as she rests her head on his shoulder. "We're not leaving until you want to, Killian. You just saw your mother's grave for the first time since you were a kid. You deserve a moment, here."

"You'll freeze," he protests, his nose nuzzling into her hair all the same. "Emma…"

"It's not that cold. It's just snowing."

"Which I've been told is a natural indicator of cold, love."

"Who told you that?" Emma hums, burrowing her head further on his shoulder until the crown of it is flush with his neck.

"My mother," he says, trying to mask just how brittle his voice is.

Emma closes her eyes. "Tell me about her."

"She would have liked you quite a bit, I'd wager," Killian contemplates aloud, his hand releasing hers in favor of migrating to her waist. He pulls her in closer to him, and Emma thinks the emotion of it must be giving him a desire for more touch.

Whether or not he's too particular about it being her touch, she isn't willing to put her finger on.

"She loved flowers, I remember. Books, too, though she didn't learn to read until after she had my brother. She was more serene, more patient. My father had more of a temper, which makes sense in retrospect," Killian snorts, the sound more bitter than amused. He sighs, melting into her. "Used to espouse the need for Liam and I to get an education, once we were old enough. Liam was at the Naval Academy when she died. She died on a Sunday, I remember. It took hours for anyone to come to help her, so many people were sick. A terrible sickness."

Emma frowns, lines of concern on her face. She feels wetness in her eyes, pricking in sympathy. "Killian, I'm so…"

"It's alright," he reassures her, squeezing her hand just a little harder. "No need to be sorry, love, it was a long time ago. My mother died and my father was never quite the same, see, but I had hope he could return to brighter spirits. So, we went on a sailing trip with men I didn't quite know and..."

Killian trails off, sighing heavily as he grimaces.

"Then I joined the Naval Academy, with Liam's help, once I was able to get back into contact with him. Everything seemed to fall into place, for once in my life since I lost my mother. Then, I lost Liam in Neverland. The king told us we were on a mission to get medicine, but it turned out to be," he steels his voice. "It turned out to be quite the opposite. He died. And then I turned the sails black - figuratively, dying sails is a right pain in the arse - a gesture of civil disobedience against the king."

Emma just listens quietly.

"I met Milah only a year after I turned to piracy," he says the woman's name - the one impressed on his skin with ink - reverently. "I met her at a tavern, punched a bloke that couldn't keep his hands to himself. One look from her and I was _enchanted_. Promised her everything I could almost immediately, and then she told me," he laughs in disbelief, shaking her head. "She told me she had a husband. Rumplestiltskin. He finally pushed her hard enough - took away every choice she had - that she asked me to take her away.

"I was helpless to resist her. We spent years together and I was deeply in love with her, her fierce independence and her dry wit. Rumplestiltskin became the Dark One, somewhere along the way, and he killed her. Crushed her heart in front of me, killed her for daring to say she didn't love him. She died in my arms and he took my hand for good measure."

Emma's heart aches, her hand squeezing his. "And then you went to Neverland," she finishes, remembering enough from his journals.

"Aye," he says. "And you know the rest, you read it."

Emma swallows, lifting her head from his shoulder to look at him. "Thank you for telling me."

His gaze flickers to the headstone, again. "Anytime, love. You deserve to hear it. Deserve to know what kind of man I used to be, at any rate."

"The kind of man you are," she emphasizes, her eyes not leaving his.

His expression turns skeptic, but his eyes look lighter. "I suppose we have to come to terms with our pasts to ensure a better future, hm?"

The corners of Emma's lips turn upwards. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess we do."


	10. Desire

**A/N: Hey there! I hope you're having a fantastic Wednesday. And if not, I hope this fic manages to cheer you up a little? Halfway through the week, guys, you can do this.**

 **On that note - warnings for this chapter for explicit sexual content. I told you it'd earn its rating, I diiiiid. If it isn't your thing, just skip this chapter and I'll see you again next week. As for those about to read like, shit, did she just spoil everything? REST ASSURED, THERE ARE MANY QUESTIONS STILL UP IN THE AIR. Is it between Emma and Killian? Does Emma meet her parents for the first time by walking in on them going at it? Is the only way that they can get the box is by interrupting an orgy? Is it a dream? Is it a dream within a dream? Is it a really long, oddly explicit, author's note inserted in the middle of this chapter like it's My Immortal? Am I one of those who fades to black and still rates things M? You're going to have to read to find out.**

 **As always, thanks to Amber, Steph, and Ella for being the amazing human beings that they are. Friends won't judge you for writing smut. True friends will proofread it for you and make sure you're using the right word for the color of nipples. I'm ridiculously anxious posting smut for the first time - for real, even for someone who considers herself a sex positive feminist the second you type 'cock' suddenly it's I CAN'T READ SUDDENLY, I DON'T KNOW.**

 **I am killing the mood.**

 **Enjoy! (?)**

-/-

It's not that they pretend that nothing happened.

Their touches linger a little more, their gestures are a little more affectionate. When returning to their long-perfected fake betrothal, their kisses land more on the lips rather than on the cheek and their affectionate nuzzles become more real than feigned. Their hands become intertwined almost constantly,

If they can't have the real thing, they'll take what they can get. At least, this is Emma's current philosophy. What's going on in Killian's head...she has a better idea of, after being exposed to his most innermost thoughts in a way that was probably unfair, but there are parts of him that still remain a mystery to her.

Parts of him like the one that has him dragging her by the hand into a sailing supply shop, giddier than a schoolboy as he talks to the owner of the place about the various merits of different knots.

Honestly, the way he can transition from sultry and seductive pirate to eager rope enthusiast makes her head spin.

(The combination of the two also has her head on decidedly more provocative thoughts that she quickly shoves aside. They have a mission. A very, very important mission that cannot afford to be sidetracked under any circumstance.)

Killian flashes her a broad grin as he's pursuing multiple varieties of compasses and her heart skips a beat, anyway.

Emma just resolves to beat her feelings - feelings like the flutter she gets in her stomach around him, feelings that have only worsened since they've resolved not to act on them because of the knowledge that he feels the same way - into submission. She can control her thoughts. She can control her actions. Emma is perfectly, one hundred percent, capable of controlling herself.

His arm comes to wrap around her as he fiddles with a compass, his hand skimming along the expanse of her lower back before settling at the curve of her waist. For the act, Emma rationalizes. And the way she leans into it, well, that's just for the act, too.

(Even though she's forgotten what they were meant to be doing here, what the story was. Why did the young couple need to go to the sailing supply store, again? It's like a joke she can't answer, one of those stupid riddles she can't solve. The answer is still courtship, but lacking a lot of detail.)

"If you two are planning on sailing out for your honeymoon I'd advise one of the sturdier compasses," the woman behind the counter says with a small smile, her heart surely melting at the sight of the two of them wrapped up in each other. That answered that question. There's no tattoo on her wrist, though, so Emma knows they should really get going.

But then Killian presses a kiss into her hair, asks her to choose one while twining his fingers in hers, and she just wants to stay, just for a little while.

This is exactly why they can't do this, for real, if they want a shot at beating Regina.

Emma stiffens, shaking her head to snap herself out of it. "Sorry. We should really get going,if you want to get dinner before dark."

She says the last words pointedly and Killian picks up on it.

"As my lady commands," he says lightly, his hand gripping hers tighter. "Thank you for your hospitality, lass. We surely need to return here before we depart after our wedding."

"Door is always open," the woman beams. "Have a nice night, you two."

"Believe me, lass, we will," the words are laced with a double meaning and she nudges him, more playful than truly perturbed.

-/-

There's one last stop they have to make before they go back to the inn, though, the last shop on the block. It's a little isolated from everything else and the decorations outside look a little gaudy, but Emma assumes it's just a weird pawn shop of some sort. When they walk in, hand in hand, the shop is littered with various pots and jars along with - weirdly enough - lengths of chain and rope. The pottery, too, looks a little off. The place is odd, unlike anything she's seen before. By the look on Killian's face, similar thoughts are racing through his mind.

"So," the woman - Cruella, if the name on the shop is any indication - begins with a broad smile. Her clothing is just as loud as the storefront, all draped furs and bright reds. "Don't tell me," she declares dramatically, closing her eyes as she points at them. "You two lovebirds are looking for something to...enhance your love life."

"Um," Emma frowns, looking to Killian. He seems equally as baffled as his hand tightens in hers. "We're doing some wedding shopping and we've been making the rounds around the block."

"Perfect," the woman says, rummaging behind her for a moment. "Just give me one moment and I'll have something that'll be _perfect_ for you two."

She slides a jar of something over to them. Killian raises his eyebrows and Emma eyes it suspiciously.

"Um, we didn't buy anything," she points out, squinting at the unassuming container.

"Free of charge," she insists, a grin on her lips. "I can trust that you two will want to come back for more, after trying this. Consider it a congratulations."

"Right," Killian replies, looking a little uncomfortable himself. "Say, lass, do you have anyone else who works here?"

"I don't know what kind of business you think I'm running," Cruella replies, raising her eyebrows with a laugh. "Looking at _her_ , though, I think you have enough to keep yourself occupied. Especially if you use this," she gestures to the jar, "here."

"Okay, then," Emma mutters under her breath, still not understanding whatever the woman's deal is. "We'll just get going, then."

Killian releases her hand to take the jar, shrugging as he does so.

"Come back soon," Cruella calls after them.

That isn't going to happen.

"She was acting really...suspicious," Emma's eyes narrow as soon as they leave the shop. "That was weird."

"I'll say," Killian mutters, shaking his head. "Possibly a batty fraud of a witch, from the looks of it. Plenty of peddlers like expanding their schemes into shops," he lifts up the jar he's holding. "I'm willing to gamble this jar is just dirt. Perhaps sparkly dirt, if she's particularly inventive."

Emma just sighs, threading her arm through his. "Great. So, we've gotten that out of the way."

-/-

They walk to the nearest inn. They're used to it when the innkeeper informs them they only have rooms with one bed. Killian may revel in it, just a little. Just because they've decided it's for the best that they don't become completely romantically intertwined doesn't mean he can't hold her in his arms, if only just under the veil of body heat.

At least, this has been the current practice. And waking up to Emma's head on his chest, raking his fingers through her long blonde hair in order to persuade her to rejoin the land of the conscious, is the sort of thing that may prove to be enough for him. All the contentedness he could need, really.

He hums as he walks into the room, draping his jacket next to hers. He fiddles with the jar he's holding a little curiously.

"I hope you're prepared," he grins, twisting the lid off of the jar in his hand, "for this sparkly dirt is sure to - I'm sure - amaze us."

"Watch it be poison," Emma sighs, rolling her eyes as she takes off her boots. "That would serve you right."

"Perhaps she's dyed it a pretty color," Killian suggests, popping off the top of the small container. To his surprise, it causes a puff of pink powder to escape from it, right in both of their faces.

"What the hell is that?" Emma asks, coughing through the clouds of powder.

Killian quickly closes the jar, nearly sneezing. "Bloody hell if I know."

"Sparkly dirt," she repeats, grimacing as she narrows her eyes at him. "I'll be sure to remember that."

Killian shakes his head. "I'm sure it'll be fine, Swan. I feel fine, do you? The...pervasiveness of it is likely meant to make it seem more like we'll sprout wings or something or another."

Emma grabs the jar from him and shoves it into one of the drawers in the desk. "I really hope that _wasn't_ poison."

"It wasn't," he rolls his eyes, his hand coming on top of hers reassuringly. Her hand is warm underneath his, pliant. Killian skims his thumb over it, once, twice, and he swears he hears her groan.

Killian raises his eyebrows, surprised by the response. Emma quickly retracts her hand from his, moving to sit on the bed. "You're right," she says shortly, sounding a little out of breath. "I'm sure it was nothing."

He sits beside her, their thighs brushing against each other. Killian inhales, sharply, at the sensation. Emma's eyes widen.

"We should sleep," he says, abruptly, lying down on his side of the bed and desperately, desperately trying to prevent a noticeable physical reaction to her accidental touch.

Emma clears her throat, but when her eyes flicker down to where he's stretched out on the bed he could swear he sees them darken. "Right. We should sleep."

Emma lowers her head down, slowly, maintaining a small distance between the two of them. They lie down on the bed, side by side. Killian's breath comes in sharp pants, despite his best efforts, and the distance between them feels like the expanse of an entire sea.

It's going to be a long night, he can already tell.

-/-

She can't remember how this argument even started. All Emma knows is that she's angry, she's frustrated, and her entire body feels flush with heat. The heat of anger, she's sure.

Killian is standing across from her at their room at the inn, his eyes dark and his mouth quirked upwards in amusement. "It's as I told you, Swan," he takes a step closer to her, his boots thumping against the the wooden floor. "We need to talk about this."

He's infuriating.

"Would you just stop talking," Emma grits out, resisting the temptation to tear her own hair out.

He cocks an eyebrow, sidling in front of her until they're inches apart. His hair has been getting longer, she notes, a strand of it falling in his face. It's a perfect length for her to hold onto, not that she's thinking about that.

"Oh, and how would you persuade me to do that?" he asks, emphasizing the _'t',_ the timbre of his voice husky and deep. His eyes are burning into hers and his breath fans in her face. "Perhaps," he suggests, drawling as his finger comes up to tap his lips suggestively, "perhaps you could force me to cease speaking, if you were so inspired to occupy the attentions of my lips-"

Emma curses, pressing her lips against his with a frustrated groan. It takes him a moment, but he gives back as good as he gets - his teeth dragging on her bottom lip and his arms holding her close to him with a desperate ferocity. His mouth trails down her neck and sucks the juncture where it meets her shoulder.

She strips off the ridiculously heavy jacket he's wearing and Killian repays her by tossing her red jacket to the floor as he nips at her collar. Killian multitasks, his hand skimming over her breasts before moving to unbutton her vest.

Her shirt hangs loosely, then, and she lifts her arms to allow Killian to take it off her. He does with a broad grin, his head ducking down to nip and suck at the valley of her breasts as soon as they're exposed to him. Emma moans, tilting her head back and curling her fingers into his hair.

Emma wraps her legs around his waist, feeling him right where she needs it the most if not for the layers of clothing they're wearing - and Killian walks her backwards until her back is against the wall. Emma laughs at his blatant overlook of the bed in the room as she shrugs off the vest he's wearing and he guides his shirt over his head. She nips at his neck and it's a blur, from there. The rest of their clothes come off - finally, and Emma ends up lying flat on her back in the bed after all, panting up at him.

"Tell me you want this," he murmurs, lining himself up right where she needs him. "Tell me you want this and I'll-"

"Shut up and fuck me already," she instructs impatiently, groaning as he brushes against her entrance.

Killian gives her a broad grin. "As you wish, m'lady."

He surges inside of her and it's raw and it's punishing and it's exactly what she needs. He gives her a moment to adjust - nipping along her collarbone, laving his tongue along her breasts - before he bucks into her like a man possessed, a man in need. She isn't much better. Her legs wrap around his hips as tightly as they possibly can, her arms lock around his neck, and he kisses her with a passion that she's sure will leave her lips bruised.

He grunts after a few thrusts that have her gasping, moving to pull her legs on top of his shoulders and pushing himself in deeper, pressing into her further. Emma just clutches him to her tighter, rocks her hips harder against him.

"That's a good girl," he rasps, cooing against her ear. "Just like that, Swan."

It's everything and it's not enough.

-/-

Killian squeezes his eyes shut, tight, desperate to relish in the way her skin burns under his touch, the way her fingers feel scratching against his back and the way her tight, lithe body fits so snugly around him. It's everything, the feeling is. He's sure to leave bruises, the way he's gripping her, but the marks she leaves on him with her nails might be bleeding. He can't bring himself to care about the latter - rather, the sting is satisfying and proof of how much she wants him, how much she needs him - but he loosens his grip on her hips.

Emma is gasping underneath him, just in the way he wants and just in the way he needs, when he's rudely interrupted. The brightness of the sun shines in his eyes, makes him blink and, gods, he must be in a haze if they've changed positions without him noticing. Killian ignores the notion, thrusting mindlessly into the source of his pleasure with his eyes clenched closed, into Emma with her golden hair in his face and her -

He realizes, belatedly, that what he's feeling isn't quite as engulfing as it should be.

Killian grunts, opening his eyes.

A very clothed Emma stirs next to him.

A very clothed Emma whose legs are wrapped around his hips, feet pressing into the backs of his knees as she presses herself down on him. For a few delirious, disconnected moments he crushes her further to him still, rutting his own hips against hers and moaning out her name in a desperate chase for the release he was deprived of.

That he was deprived of because it was a damn dream.

Killian freezes in realization of where he is, of what reality is.

He stops, painfully. "Emma, love," he presses his palm against the side of her face, forcing her to face him, "Wake," he suppresses a moan as she drags herself against him, again, and he could swear he feels her wetness through the clothes she's wearing. "Wake up, darling."

Her eyes slowly open. The sheer amount of desire in them could almost make him spill himself in his pants like an overexcited teenager.

"Oh," Emma says, sounding a little mortified as she stills against him.

His face floods with the heat of shame. "I'm so sorry, love, I should have...I didn't realize, at first, that it wasn't-"

Emma just pants underneath him, eyes blown wide and her chest rising and falling with her sharp, staccato breaths. It's not aiding his arousal in the slightest. "A dream," she mutters, still gasping out her breaths. She's taken off her vest before sleeping, he notices, and when she inhales in that thin shirt occasionally one of her stiff nipples peek out. He resists the urge to pull one into his mouth, make more pretty sighs fall for her lips as she arches for him.

"We were dreaming," she states, her voice hoarse.

"Aye," he says, his cock still painfully stiff between her thighs. Killian swallows, hard. "I believe that we were. Well, I know I was."

"Was it," her voice comes out in pants, breaking a little. The green of her eyes is barely visibly, she's so overtaken by lust. The thought has him growing harder still, if such a feat is possible. "Was it a good dream?"

"A spectacular dream,"

Emma seems to contemplate this, for a moment.

"Don't stop," she mutters, her hands curling into his back.

His eyebrows raise in disbelief. "What?"

"I said," she tightens her legs around him even further still. His eyes roll into the back of his head, feeling the heat of her even through the layers of clothing they're wearing. "Don't stop."

She rocks against him, pressing herself against the ridge of him with breathless little pants and whines. Killian groans, lost in the sensations, lost in her, and forgets his protests altogether. Her back arches and he pulls at her thin little shirt until it falls down to reveal her breasts.

Killian takes one of her hard, pink nipples into his mouth, unable to help himself as he holds her hips with the pressure of his, props her legs so he's able to brush against her in a way that has her gasping. He runs the pad of his thumb against the other one, moving in sure circles.

"There you go, love," he murmurs, releasing her breast from his mouth and grinding down onto her. She looks so beautiful, like this, gasping and moaning underneath him "Take what you need. You feel so good, love, so soft and and warm in my arms,"

She comes in his arms, his cock between her thighs, with a stifled gasp. Killian nearly follows her over, until he remembers that he couldn't afford to soil his only pair of leather pants on hand and abruptly stops the motion of his hips. Emma stills underneath him, panting as she stares him straight in the eye.

 _Why did you keep going?_ He could ask, but he doesn't. _Were you thinking of me, too?_ He could ask, but he doesn't.

 _Would you like to try that without clothes?_

Killian definitely won't ask.

He's still hard and straining in his pants. Emma notices this when she regains a bit of her presence of mind, if the way her eyes go to the bulge in his leathers are any indication. "Do you want me to…" she trails off, and, gods, he's suddenly picturing her pink little mouth wrapped around his -

"No," he says quickly, standing up and lifting his hand to protest. Hurt flashes across her face until he quickly amends his statement. "Believe me, love, I want - gods, I want you. I've wanted you. But something doesn't feel quite right, does it?"

Something is wrong. Not his desire, of course, that's been simmering for a while now. But the sudden, frenzied explosion of it - the word _explosion_ has him straining even harder, painfully so, in his pants - isn't quite natural. He knows desire, he knows the heat curling in his veins and he knows how it feels with Emma.

It's gotten remarkably worse

Worse isn't the right word, necessarily, but uncontrollable.

"The powder," Emma mutters in realization, her hands coming up to cover her face in mortification. She sits up and tugs her shirt back into place, grabs her vest and buttons it, then reaches for her coat. "I need to get to that shop, see what the hell she gave us."

He's loathe to see her redress.

"I'm going to, erm," he gestures to his erection. "Take care of this, while you're out."

"Right," Emma replies, sounding a little out of breath. "Right. I'm just going to...go to Cruella's. I'll be back."

His eyes watch the curve of her arse as she leaves. Killian groans as the door closes behind her, taking himself in hand at a pace that would be embarrassing.

-/-

"Back so soon?" Cruella says as soon as she walks into the door, her eyebrows raising. "Why, dear, I had a feeling you two would be insatiable, but not -"

"What was in the powder you gave us?" Emma asks immediately, an infuriated expression on her face. "We opened it and it…" Emma grimaces, unsure of how to even explain the lust that had overtaken her. That still lingers, if the shaking of her hands is any indication. "What the hell were you trying to _do?_ "

"Oh dear," Cruella titters, her hand coming to rest on top of her mouth. "I don't suppose you know what type of establishment this is, do you?"

"A brothel?" Emma asks, her eyebrows raising and her voice rising in pitch.

"I'm not selling participants, dear, only enhancements," Cruella shakes her head, her black and white streaked hair swaying with the motion. "You seriously didn't know?"

Emma looks at her in utter disbelief. "Please, fill me in!"

"What do you think those are," Cruella says, gesturing to the pottery display Emma found odd earlier. "Back scratchers?"

The weird pottery looks decidedly phallic shaped, now that she's really looking at it. "What the _hell_?"

Cruella bursts into peals of laughter, unable to help herself. "In all my years operating this shop...I believe this is the best thing that's happened so far."

Emma flushes, embarrassed and angry and, frankly, pretty fucking sexually frustrated. She wants to go back to the inn, wants to fall back into bed with Killian, wants to satisfy all the damn urges she's been trying so desperately to smother. "Just tell me what was in the damn pot that we accidentally inhaled."

"It's a bud from a…" Cruella barely manages to compose herself from laughter, but she trails off with a shameless shrug, "particularly rare flower. It's an aphrodisiac with a particularly potent effect. I thought it'd be a good treat for any wedding night, honestly."

"This," Emma gasps out. She must look like an insane nymphomaniac, pupils blown out and her words stuttering out of her in sharp exhales. She adjusts her stance, holding back a groan when the shifting of her thighs has the opposite of its intended effect. "Is not an aphrodisiac. Aphrodisiacs are weird clams, this is…" she searches for the right word, gesturing wildly, "fucking sex dust!"

"It doesn't make you want anyone you don't already want," Cruella adds, rolling her eyes "I was very mindful of consent when I refined it, you see."

"Really? Because I don't remember consenting to inhaling-"

"It amplifies feelings you already have. The more denial you're in about them, the stronger it tends to be," Cruella sighs, heavily. "Let me guess, you wanted to wait until marriage? If you weren't battling some pitious sexual repression between the two of you, it wouldn't have had quite as enhancing of an effect. Believe me, the last thing I want is for some fools to get ahold of my product and think they can use it as a replacement for prowess. I've been working to get it to work as poison if the user attempts to use the pollen as a replacement for consent, but…" she clucks her tongue. "It's proving to be difficult. If you have any ideas, you let me know, hm?"

Emma can only gape.

Cruella just rolls her eyes. "The power of it should fade with a few hours. If you decide that you finally want to take some time for you, your pretty little - well, I hope not little, for your sake, the pollen can only compensate for so much - companion, and a bed, you can do that. If you lock yourself up somewhere and try to keep yourself occupied, that's your business."

"We aren't…" Emma stammers, heat flooding her cheeks. "We haven't…"

"Hm? Well perhaps this is your cue to take some alone time with your husband to be," Cruella replies, flipping her cropped hair over her shoulder. "You two seem as if you could have a lot of fun together, as gorgeous as the both of you are. Honestly, I don't care. If you want to buy some rope or some of our oils-"

"Trust me," Emma scoffs. "I don't need anything more from you."

"Are you sure?" Cruella titters as she holds up what looks to be a potion. "This should prevent you from conceiving a child, see, and drives away most of those pesky itches and rashes that sailors who reach port far too often bring-"

Emma covers her face in embarrassment, shaking her head.

She doesn't need this. She really doesn't. Emma just needs to lock herself in another room and...take care of the problem for however long it takes. She's sure Killian is already doing the same.

(Fuck, now she can't stop picturing it. His length in his hand, him gasping out her name - she is so beyond hope. She hates this fucking dust.)

"How long does it last for?" Emma asks, in spite of herself.

The woman shrugs. "Days. It takes a little while for it to leave your system."

She uncaps the potion and downs it right in front of her. Just in case. It leaves a sickeningly sweet aftertaste in her mouth.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Cruella says with a wide smile. "Free of charge, the amusement I got from this is worth the cost."

Emma just huffs as she leaves the shop.

-/-

"Hey," she says, knocking against the door of their room at the inn.. Emma doesn't trust herself to open it, with things as they stand now she isn't sure she wouldn't jump him on sight. That's the _last_ thing they need. "I, um, figured out what happened. Don't open the door."

"Oh," he replies on the other side, sounding a little out of breath. Emma doesn't want to think about the reason why, really. "Yes, that's probably for the best. Am I right to assume the dust...had a purpose we were unaware of?"

"If you mean _'did we breathe in a bunch of sex pollen?'_ , the answer is yes," Emma says dryly. "The entire shop was...focused on that particular pastime. The woman seems to get a lot of business, though, to be fair."

"You mean to tell me…" Killian trails off. "That we entered an establishment entirely focused on, erm, pleasure?"

"Yup,"

"That's odd," Killian mutters, his head thunking against the other side of the door. Emma almost wants to claw through it, to press him down and have his head make a similar sound against the headboard.

Emma needs to focus.

"...I didn't think I saw any wenches there, but perhaps-"

"It wasn't a brothel," she says, crossing her arms to prevent herself from making any poor decisions. "Believe me, I had the same question. Apparently it was all very...equipment focused."

"Oh," he murmurs, his interest apparently piqued.

"I um," she mutters, blush rising in her cheeks. "I downed a bottle of potion. It's meant to prevent...conception. Just in case."

"Just in case," Killian repeats, his voice sounding remarkably tight.

There's a tense silence between them, for a moment.

"I want you so badly, Swan," he tells her and the words have her flushing with heat, have her stomach tugging. "I just want to lay you out, for me, worship you like you deserve to be worshipped. Would you like that, Swan?"

She would. She really, really would.

"Killian," she groans, her voice warning and wanting all at once. "We can't. We really, really can't."

"But do you want to?" Killian asks, his voice sinful even through the thick wood of the door. "If you do, Emma, say the word and I'll pull you into this room and make you never want to leave it. This morning is nothing in comparison to what I can do for you, what I can make you _feel_."

"We need to wait," Emma manages to gasp out, resisting the urge to slide her hand between her legs and resolve her problem right here, in front of anyone to see. "I'm going to get a room. I'm going to take care of...this. And if we still...we can talk about it when it wears off. So we can know it's real, that it's not just dust talking. We're not really good for anything, like this."

He groans. "You're right, Swan. Of course you're right."

-/-

Emma does finally knock on his door, once the dust wears off and she's done all she can with her fingers. She took a bath, too, just to rinse the smell of sex and sweat off of her as if it'd make this any easier. Filling the tavern's grimy tub with buckets of water was at least a distraction for a little while, long enough for the effect to wane. Emma exhales, shakily, as she waits for his response.

"Can I open the door?" Killian asks, his tone deceivingly light.

"Yeah," Emma says, a small smile on her lips. "Yeah, you can. I think I'm officially sex pollen-free."

Killian opens the door, his shirt hanging loosely on his body - looking even more unbuttoned than usual - and his hair incredibly disheveled. "Glad to hear it. I think I'm similarly...adjusted."

"That's," Emma replies, her voice tight. The sight of him, like this, looking like sex-personified, has almost as bad of an effect on her as the pollen did. "That's good to hear."

"Yeah?" Killian asks, his voice husky as he closes the door behind her.

"Yeah," Emma repeats.

"You said you wanted to talk," he drawls out, his tongue coming out to lick his lips. "What did you want to talk about, Emma?"

"Uh," Emma blinks, nearly forgetting herself. "I...guess I wanted to talk about what we wanted."

"Oh," he murmurs, his head tilting as he studies her. "And what do you want?"

"I want...a lot of things. I want to be able to do this stupid Savior thing without getting anyone hurt, without making an idiot of myself. I want to be able to find that box," she sighs, shaking her head. "And I want... you. Dust or no dust, I want you. And I know it's not...I know it's complicated. I know it's stupid. I know that after this...we can't. But if we can just...have this, maybe that would be enough."

His mouth falls open, at that.

Emma bites her lip, unsure of what else to say. "What do you want?"

"Don't you know, Emma? It's you," Killian answers, as if it's the easiest question he's ever been asked.

Emma can't take it, anymore. She surges forward to kiss him, her arms wrapping tight around his neck as his follow suit at her waist. He tangles his hand in her hair, knotting his fingers in her loose curls. She moans, the sound guttural even in her ears. She breaks apart from him just long enough to reply, letting him trail his lips down her neck. "I was hoping you'd say that. And the dust?"

Killian chuckles against her lips, snaking his hand around her waist to press her against his arousal. "This is all the thought of you, Swan, not the bloody powder."

"Good."

Killian palms at her breast through the fabric of her vest and shirt, following his fingers with his mouth.

He pauses at the line of her collarbone, his thumb massaging the underside of her breasts. "I've been hoping for this since I walked into your mother's bloody house."

Emma grabs him by the collar, then, dragging him until his back hits the wall. "That makes two of us."

"I thought you hated me, then," he mutters between kisses, hand skimming down to her ass. He flips them around so that she's the one with her back to the wall, now.

Emma moans, wrapping one of her legs around his hips and stuttering the words out as she feels him bob between her legs, pressing against her clit. "You can still ha-hate someone and think their ass looks, uh, great in leather pants."

"And what do you think of me now?" he asks in a whisper, pressing harder against her.

"Now," she presses herself on the ridge of him, groaning with the motion. She's already so wet, she's been so wet, it's ridiculous. But she aches, aches for him and for friction and fullness, and she sighs every time his erection presses against her clit just right. "I want to take the leather pants off."

"That makes two of us," he repeats her words with a stupid grin, laving his tongue around the side of her neck and grasping her hip. He grounds himself against her, again, dragging on her clit even harder as she lets out a stilted gasp, "But I think that I'd rather take care of your clothing first, lass."

Killian pulls back, stepping away from her, and she groans at the loss. Her chest heaves as she glares at him, taking in the way his eyes darken as he looks at her.

"Just drinking in the sight," he murmurs as he brings his hand to cup her face, slowly trailing it down to her neck, her collar, then to the valley of her breasts through her clothes. Killian looks up at her, for permission, and she just nods. Emma is suddenly finding words very, very difficult.

Killian sways back into her space, then, carefully undoing the buttons on her vest. He's painstakingly slow, looking up underneath his damn lashes at her as he does it, and she curses.

"Wanna speed the process up, sailor?"

"Why would I," he teases, eyes light but still intensely focused on her as he carefully guides her shirt over her shoulders. He lets it fall to the floor. "Let me relish in unwrapping."

Emma feels exposed, in more ways than one. The chill of the air causes her nipples to harden even more, straining in the air, and she can feel tingling from her toes to the top of her skull. She feels vulnerable, oh so vulnerable, as he eyes her up and down as if he's cataloguing every inch of her for his memory.

"Get on with it," she demands impatiently, her ragged breaths filling the room.

Killian smiles broadly, his hand stilling at the laces of her riding pants. He walks her backwards until her back hits the bed, then finally strips off the rest of her clothing, tugging her undergarments down with her pants.

"Who am I," he hums, ducking his head down to ghosts his lips around the shell of her ear. She closes her eyes. "To deny a woman of her _needs_."

She kisses him firmly, then, surging forward and tangling her hands in his hair. He moans against her, arms wrapping around her. He breaks apart from her only to trail kisses down her face, her neck, and the valley of her breasts. His mouth down her stomach burns anticipation in her veins. Her back is arched and she's already keening before his mouth reaches its destination between her legs.

They must make a hell of a sight - the Savior naked and arching against the headboard with Captain Hook between her thighs. This is something she's certain won't be included in the stories of their adventures.

"Emma, oh, _Emma_ ," he says her name like a hymn, voice muffled as he worships her with his mouth. He alternates between sucking her clit in his mouth and laving at her entrance. She can barely understand the words, but it's overwhelming and suffocating and the coil low in her stomach keeps getting tighter and tighter. The feeling only gets more intense when he presses one finger inside of her, then another.

"Killian," she murmurs, hands balling into the sheets and her legs scrambling to wrap around his shoulders. Emma needs something, anything to hold onto. " _Killian_."

He laughs, the sound vibrating his mouth and the movement shaking his fingers and fuck, fuck, fuck. Emma spasms as she moans his name, one more time, hands moving from the sheets to grasp in his hair and pull him tighter against her while her legs lock into place on his shoulders. Killian is unphased by the reaction, still stroking her with his fingers and tongue as she comes down from her high.

He removes both as he slowly looks up at her, her chest heaving and her arms and legs boneless. The dust may have worn off before they even took off their clothes, but Killian looks at her in a way that says they're just getting started. Emma surges forward to kiss him, tasting herself on his lips, before moving off the bed and instructing him to lie down in her place.

He complies, a grin on his lips. "Should have guessed you're the sort who likes to be on top, Swan."

She rolls her eyes before she straddles him. Killian is still completely clothed, she notices. Emma scans him up and down, from the obvious bulge in his leather pants to the way his eyes glaze over as he looks at her. Emma unbuttons the rest of his shirt - the one that's barely buttoned in the first place - and tugs it off of him. Her eyes linger on his prosthetic hand and the brace that's holding it in place.

Her hand comes up to grasp his false one in hers. "Is it okay if I take this off?"

"It's bit of an ugly sight, I'm afraid," his face contorts into a grimace.

"You're still half clothed, but so far I can't find a part of you that's ugly," she comments, frowning though she tries to keep her voice light. "Trust me, Killian. I just want you to be comfortable. Whatever way you're comfortable with it, on or off, it won't make me want this any less."

Killian's eyes soften. "You're sure?"

Emma lifts his false hand up to her lips so she can press a kiss to it. "Positive."

She takes it off, his eyes watching her the entire time. Emma kisses the skin it reveals, where his hand used to be, watching his eyes the entire time. She just wants him to be comfortable, with her, wants him to know that she wants all of this. That she wants all of him.

"I…" he trails off, voice overcome with emotion.

"What?" Emma asks, sliding her hands to rub over the hair on his chest.

"Nevermind," he murmurs, his tone soft. Killian's eyes don't leave hers. "I'm just...very lucky to have you, Swan."

Emma's mouth parts, at loss for words for a moment. She clears her throat, attempting for levity as she undoes the strings of his leather pants. "You're about to get luckier, sailor."

Emma tugs off his leathers, then, letting his cock spring free from its confines as he groans. Suddenly, she understands his obnoxious confidence when it comes to sex a little more - the man has a lot to brag about. Emma grins, gently wrapping her hand around the thick base of him before he protests.

"Trust me, love, if you want to get to the main event...I'd suggest we save that for another time, aye?"

Emma leans over him with a smile, setting her thighs on either side of his hips. Emma kisses him and he responds enthusiastically, his tongue sweeping across the bottom of her lip. Her mouth leaves his, trailing down to his jaw before nipping at the underside of it. When he doesn't have much in the way of reactions, she redirects her attentions to his neck. "What's the matter, Captain? Afraid you won't have the stamina?"

Killian flips her over so he's on top, then, a shaky grin on his lips. Emma must have found just the right spot to get him riled up. "I'll show you exactly how much stamina I have, Swan. What do you say I make you come again, hm?"

Emma laughs, her fingers knotting into his hair as she drags his lips down to hers. "I'd say I've been ready all day."

"Are you," he groans, the sound low in his throat as he lifts one of her thighs over his hips. Emma lifts the other leg to follow, crossing her ankles at his back and panting when she can feel his cock at her entrance. "Are you sure, love?"

"Yeah," she breathes, pulling him down to kiss her by knotting her fingers in his hair, moaning when his chest brushes up against hers. Her lips break apart from his just to reply, "Yeah, I'm sure."

Killian guides himself inside of her easily and she shudders, her other hand clawing at his back as her hand tightens in his hair. She feels so delightfully full in a way she's been aching to feel for hours (weeks, really). He's long and thick and pressing up against her in every way possible and she still wants _more._

He pulls back from the kiss to press his forehead against hers, groaning at the feel of her as she rocks her hips and wraps her legs in a vice around him.

"You alright, Swan?" Killian's pupils are blown wide as he looks down at her, his breath coming in short pants and his hips rocking back, ever so slightly, against her.

She must look the same way, gasping and desperate as her hand slides from his hair to his shoulder to brace herself. "Killian, please, just-"

He pulls almost all of the way out of her only to snap his hips, letting her feel every inch of him inside of her. He feels even deeper inside of her, if it's even possible, and she feels like she's being pushed to her limits in a way that would hurt if she weren't already so fucking _ready_. Killian laughs breathlessly as her fingernails scrape his back and she cries out his name. His brow furrows in concentration, sweat already slicking both of their bodies, as he repeats the motion.

"You feel amazing, Swan, so bloody brilliant," he groans wantonly as his lips press against her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, then trace down the shell of her ear and suck at her neck. "Oh, Emma, love."

All she can hear is her heart pounding in her ears, the sliding of their bodies, and their labored breaths. The sounds of them fill the room until all they can hear is each other. Emma rocks her hips against his with his every thrust, vying to create a coherent rhythm, with him filling her until she aches. She wants more, she swears as he wraps his arms around her. One arm is wrapped around her back, the other is holding her ass as Killian increases his pace, grunting with exertion. She wants more of him rocking inside her, just like this, his hips snapping against hers harder and her panting in his ear as he brings his mouth to suck at her shoulder. She wants more of his thickness, finding just the right spot as her thighs tremble around him. She wants the feeling of his chest pressed against hers. She wants _him_.

They're so needy, so wanting for each other that it's hard to focus on anything besides the primal urge to want, take, have. The two of them are like elastic, pulled so tight and wound so much that it just _snaps_.

"Emma," he moans again against her shoulder, her hands clinging desperately to his back and the nape of his neck as he continues to accelerate his pace. Killian lifts up his head, his hand coming to brush her hair out of her face. "Love, let me see you. Let me see you," Killian brings his hand down - again - to massage her clit as he thrusts into her. "How pretty and flustered you can get for me, just like this. Emma."

Her hands tighten in his base of his hair when she comes, rocking against him and chasing the white, hot heat that finally, finally provides some sense of relief. Her toes curl, she chokes out his name, and Emma clamps down tightly around him. He moans her name, then, rubbing her clit in soothing circles as she comes down from her high.

Emma's body goes slack and she meets his eyes. She can hardly see the blue of them as she pants, just staring at him as he slows his hips. He brings his hand from between her legs to rest at her hip, still panting and hard inside of her.

"You alright, love?" he asks, hand coming up to brush her hair out of her face.

"Yeah," she pants, feeling sated and satisfied. "I'm alright."

But she still wants more.

"But I'll be better in a second," she grins, chest heaving and eyes sparkling as she looks up at him.

-/-

Emma rolls them over so that she's on top, pushing back her long blonde hair out of her face as she straddles him.

Killian should have guessed she'd be the type to take control, really.

"Fucking hell," he grunts, letting his head hit the pillow as he strains, raising his hips to press deeper, to fill every crevice inside of her. Emma laughs in response, but it becomes a little choked when he grinds up again.

"You good?" Emma asks.

Killian nods, his eyes focused on her hazy green ones. "You're bloody brilliant, you know that?"

Emma is all light hair and sure smiles, the delicate curve of her waist providing a perfect place for him to grip her with calloused fingers and the dusky pink of her nipples tempting him to lift his head up to suck and nip around them. He does both. She moans, back arching, as he gives her a victorious smile. She rolls her hips then, experimentally, and he gasps out her name. Emma lets out a low hum of satisfaction.

Killian arches up so that he can kiss her, meet her lips with his, and the motion makes them both moan. Their lips bump against each other, clumsily, before finding each other.

He ruts into her with one arm wrapped around her back to keep her pressed against him - breasts touching his chest and her mouth crying out into his shoulder, leaving bite marks in her wake. His hand moves to work at her clit, rubbing it in circles in an effort to make her fall for him, bring her to rapture just one more time. His hips jerk upwards while she moves her own, gasping his name against his lips. He grins, moving his lips to trace along the planes of her face.

Emma pants, her hips rolling against his. Her eyes are heavy lidded when she presses her forehead against his, his handless arm still locked tight around her. She looks so beautiful, just like this.

He tells her as much, mutters it against her lips as he slows down his own thrusts. "You're so beautiful, Swan, so lovely. Taking what you want, what you need. Anything you want, it's yours, darling."

Emma rises up on her knees, groaning as she moves down on his length, moves down to kiss him. Her lips bump clumsily against his as he raises his hand to brush the hair from her face. Killian's eyes flicker down to where they're joined, where his cock disappears inside of her, and he resolves himself to make her fall apart for him quickly. Truthfully, with a sight like this and with the way she feels around him - hot and wet and tight, gods, she's so _tight_ \- he isn't sure how much longer he can make himself last.

"I want," she gasps, her hands running up and down his chest. He moans, rolling his hips under hers in a way that nearly knocks the breath straight from her lungs. She exhales sharply before she finishes her sentence. "I want more of _this_."

Killian laughs breathlessly, nosing along the column of her neck. "Ah, love. Then more," he lifts himself up in a sitting position, grunting at the feel of her surrounding him, "you shall have."

Emma moans, her arms wrapping around him and her chest pressed to his. They don't speak for the next few minutes, the only thing between them moans choked out between kisses. He rocks his hips until he hits just the right spot, marked by her keening moan and the arching of her back. She's seconds away, Killian can tell, her hand coming around to grasp at his arse and press him closer to her, force him deeper inside of her.

He isn't complaining, his resolve and his stamina becoming more difficult every moment.

"So beautiful," he encourages, his voice guttural. "So strong, you're always so strong, love. Let me give you some relief, hm? You want to let go so badly, Swan. I know you do."

Emma just nods, keening out and panting when he shifts his hips just right. He's much more of a talker than she is, he's found out. Emma will pull him closer, fuck him harder when she means to say that she wants it rougher, wants him deeper. This is their first time and he's already catalogued her responses - the silent parting of her lips and the tightening of her fingers on his back and the different pitches and tremors of her moans and sighs to get more, to encourage more from her.

"My brilliant Swan," he sighs, resting his forehead against hers. Killian isn't the 'all talk, no action' sort. He just prefers his action with narration, see. "You're wonderful, you know that? You deserve…" he grunts, his hand coming down to rub her clit in a way that he knows will make her come, his hips moving to position themselves in a way that will make him drag inside of her _just_ right. The other arm wraps around her, tight, desperate to keep her as close to him as possible even as his fingers move in steady circles between her legs and his cock presses her open. "You deserve satisfaction, you deserve completion, you deserve release, let me give it to you. You work so _hard_ , Emma, you're so good. Let me take care of you."

He continues like that until she comes, rasping out his name as he jerks into her. She sounds so utterly wanton, so debauched, so exhausted that it only takes a few slow, steady thrusts after Emma nearly collapses on his chest - lost to the pleasure he's making her feel - for him to follow her over the brink. She lets out a small, satisfied moan as he pulses and softens inside of her.

They both groan and sigh and wilt in each other's arms.

"That was," he gasps out, sliding out of her. Killian nuzzles his face into the top of her head and folds his arms around her protectively as he lowers himself to lie beside her. He feels too exhausted and sated to move.

Emma sighs, letting her eyes close as his hand comes up to rake through her curls. "A one time thing."

His eyebrows raise, surprise overtaking his features. She doesn't even see his reaction, her head buried in his chest. "A one time thing," he repeats.

Emma pauses for a beat. "We talked about it...before. We can't let...we just can't do this, Killian. We had to get it out of our systems. We had to just…' she lifts her head up to meet his eyes, props her chin on his chest. "We just had to get it out of our systems."

There's a part of him that knows she's right, that knows they can't afford to get lost in each other with a task this steep, knows that even moreso with what he has to do once all is said and done. Killian just sighs and presses a kiss into her hair.

She extricates herself to sit up. Killian stops her with his hand on her shoulder.

"There's no reason we can't sleep together, here, in the more literal sense," Killian murmurs, perhaps a bit pleadingly. "The room is awfully cold, there's nothing to fix that quite like body heat…"

Emma rolls her eyes, but leans back into him all the same.

Things would go back to some approximation of normal, he's sure, or at least they'll try to. Soon he'll be relegated back to only touching her when he has an excuse, soon her smiles will be a bit more guarded again, soon they'll be forced to pretend that nothing happened at all. But if only for that night, he's hers.

He falls asleep with her head pillowed on his chest and his arms around her. The sleep he has is more contented, more restful than he's had in ages.


	11. Pandora's Box

**A/N: Hey! Happy Wednesday to you, I hope it's been a pretty good one! This chapter is a bit of a long one (this keeps on happening, I'm just learning to accept it), but I really hope you enjoy it. I've honestly been so, so overwhelmed by the response to this fic. It continues to amaze me, the kind things you guys say, and I just want to hug all of you for making writing this and posting this such a nice experience.**

 **On a related note - on this fic is now 100k? Which is insanity, to me, because I've never thought I could write something this long. On AO3/tumblr/places where rambling in author's notes aren't included in word count, it doesn't hit the mark until next chapter, but damn! It's been a fun ride and I hope it continues to be one for a while to come.**

 **As per usual - all the thanks in the world to Ella, Steph, and Amber. This would be genuine dumpster diving garbage without them. It still might be, but at least with their help it's recyclable dumpster diving trash.**

-/-

It's an awkward redress, the next morning.

They'd fallen asleep entwined around each other, both too sated and exhausted to bother moving at all. It wasn't as if they weren't used to the feeling of waking up wrapped in each other's arms, that seemed almost commonplace after the first few nights of traveling together. It's the lack of clothing, the intimate knowledge of each and every carefully catalogued part of the other's body. Killian has a scar right above his hipbone, a small compass tattooed to his upper back, and he's ticklish around the middle of his left ribs. These aren't things she knew, before.

She didn't sleep with him, before.

Emma tilts her head up to look at him, his eyes closed and his breathing steady, and she sighs. She's still tired, still exhausted (their night was busy, admittedly, and she aches in places she didn't realize _existed_ ) and she just wants to go back to sleep. The sun is rising, though, and if there's one annoying thing sleeping with Killian - _actually_ sleeping - has ingrained in her it's to rise with the sun.

Not that he seems to be doing much rising.

Emma groans, her head falling lightly back on his chest. It's awkward and tense enough to wake up next to someone she slept with the night before (there was Baelfire and Walsh and other men and women who she didn't really bother learning the names of when she was feeling bitter and lonely and useless as the daughter of a Healer with no real destiny or life laid out for her - now she has a little too much destiny), but it's even worse when she ended things on the note of _'This was a one time thing'_.

And it was. It was a moment of weakness, a breaking of a levee of sexual tension. She isn't going to delude herself into thinking it didn't mean anything. But things haven't changed in the ways that matter, Emma is still the Savior. They still have a task. Great sex - the _best_ sex, if she's being honest - or not, that fact still remains. It doesn't matter what she wants (and it's still Killian, in the way that makes her burn with the right touch or soften at the sight of him peacefully slumbering), it's about what she needs to do. She can't spend all this time being worried about what she wants. That's unfair to her people, unfair to what she's meant to do.

They're not headed on a great track, if they keep on doing this. The kissing, the sex, the affection - they can't. It's a distraction from the task at hand. Emma is the Savior, she can't afford to get preoccupied nuzzling up to a pirate when she should be finding a way to defeat a cruel enchantress.

Emma contemplates this, her ear against his heart as she listens to it beat a steady rhythm. It speeds up soon after and she knows he's awake, especially when moments later she feels his hand come up to rake through her hair. She sighs, murmuring something unintelligible even to her, and leans further against him in spite of herself.

"Good morning," his accented voice greets her raspily. His rings almost get tangled in her long locks, so he settles his hand at the curve of her waist. They're both still naked, the sheets pooled around them with some attempt at decency and warmth, so Emma tenses a little in discomfort.

He notices. "You alright?"

"Fine," she murmurs, her voice clipped as she stares at the light shining through the small window. "I'm fine."

Killian must be frowning, even if she can't see him. She feels bad, distancing herself like this, she can feel the guilt twisting in her gut and settling uncomfortably on her stomach. But she needs to do this, for both of their sakes.

"I understand," he replies, his voice not unkind. It actually sounds like he does, too. He understands she wants her distance, understands she can't handle this. He slides carefully out from under her, trying not to jostle her as she sits up to accommodate his movement - clutching the sheet to her chest to maintain a modicum of modesty - and she hears a rustle as he tugs on his leather pants.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes, her back turned to him. She clenches her eyes shut in frustration as her head falls on the space he's just left. It's still warm.

"Nothing to worry about," he replies from somewhere behind her, his footsteps filling the room as he searches for something. Her eyes crack open and she spots his shirt lying just beside her. Emma grabs it and lifts it up like a flag, waiting for him to take it from her.

"Thank you," he says quickly, tugging it on as she fixes her eyes firmly on the window. "I'll leave you to dress, in a moment. Get some breakfast, we surely have a long day ahead of us."

"Yeah," Emma agrees, nodding. "That's a good idea."

Killian leaves a moment later, the door clicking behind him with an awkward shuffle. Emma releases the breath she was very conscious of holding, wondering how the hell they're supposed to navigate around each other now.

-/-

Emma finds him again at the tavern downstairs, her hand absentmindedly coming to cover one of the bruises he's left on her neck (from his lips, not his hands) when she spots him. Killian is seated with his head bent over a table, fiddling absentmindedly with what looks to be a flask in his hand - the one meant for water for their travels, it thankfully looks like. He seems uncharacteristically subdued.

"Hey," Emma says quietly, ambling up to the chair next to him. His head snaps up to meet her eyes, definitely on edge, and she gives him a feeble smile. "This seat taken?"

He laughs, a little, but the sound sticks in his throat. He gestures to the chair, as gentlemanly as ever. "By all means, Swan."

The way he drawls out her name reminds her of a different circumstance, him pressing into her and rasping things like _'You're so beautiful, Swan, so lovely'_ and _'You want to let go so badly, Swan. I know you do'_. Emma flushes at the memory, depositing herself on the seat with a sharp exhale. Emma shifts her legs, trying to make herself comfortable so this conversation is a little more bearable.

She still feels the burn of his beard between her thighs, but that's another matter entirely. Emma clears her throat. "So, everything okay?"

He nods quickly. "Aye. Ordered what you typically do, hope you don't mind."

Emma softens at the gesture, her heart swelling as she realizes he's taken that much note of her stupid _egg preferences_ over the past few weeks. "Thank you," she murmurs, her eyes on his.

They both freeze awkwardly, for a moment, then start to eat in silence while carefully avoiding each others' gaze.

It's the most uncomfortable morning-after breakfast she's ever had. It's the only uncomfortable morning-after breakfast she's ever had. At least with the one nighters, she left before breakfast. This is another level of hell.

It's hellish because she _does_ care, because they're working together, because she can't just get up and run as soon as she feels mildly uncomfortable. It's all the reason she hates keeping this distance and the reason that she has to.

"We should talk," she sighs finally, dropping her fork. It makes a loud clatter against her plate, breaking the silence if her words don't. "About last night. We need to talk. We can't just keep," Emma gestures, feebly, to the table they're sitting at, to the thick air between them, "doing this."

Killian's grip tightens on his flask of water. "What would you like to talk about?"

"I don't know," Emma huffs, slumping against the back of her chair. "What do you want to talk about? If you have any questions...you should ask them. Because this isn't going to work out - this partnership - if we can't talk."

It's a weird role reversal. Usually she's the one clamming up and he's chipping at her walls. This is not a position she's used to, but she'll be damned if she ruins everything they have (that she's not willing to label) over her own lack of communication skills.

' _A one time thing,'_ did enough damage as it was, she's sure. But she'd meant it to, hadn't she?

"I have one," he broaches carefully. He leans back slightly in the wooden chair and it makes a complaining screech that feels deafening.

"Ask me," Emma replies, hoping that she won't regret it.

"Do you regret it?" Killian asks, voice low as he fixes his eyes on the table. He's slouched into himself, his shoulders drooping and his eyebrows furrowed. "Last night, do you regret it?"

"No," Emma replies automatically, not even needing to think about her reply. "No, I don't. I'm just...we can't...you know we can't keep doing this."

"Aye," he says, voice so quiet she can hardly hear it. When Killian looks up to meet her eyes, his mask is firmly in place - lips twitching with mischief and posture reverting back to its usual swagger. "I understand. We have the quest to worry about and all, don't we?"

His question lingers in the air, as do his eyes on hers. Killian is searching for something, any hint of hesitation, any clue that she'll cave in and they can do this, explore this, for real, quest or no quest.

Killian won't find it.

"Yeah," she mutters instead, sounding final. "We do."

Killian nods slowly.

There's a stilted silence between the two of them, for a few beats, until he offers his hand out to her. It lies flat on the table, palm up and open. It's a conciliatory gesture if she's ever seen one.

Emma takes it with a soft, reluctant smile. Her fingers tangle with his. He returns her grin, looking relieved.

"I'm sorry," she repeats again for good measure.

"You've nothing to apologize for, Swan," he assures her quietly, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.

That's an outright lie, but she's too tired - emotionally and physically - to call him out on it.

They'd gotten it out of their systems, Emma reasons. That would have to be enough. Now, things wouldn't be as bad. They scratched the itch, now they can move on.

(Except Ingrid had always told her scratching made it worse - from the patches of dry skin she got on her ribs when she was a teenager to the bug bites she got every summer - and Emma never listened. She scratched until it was raw and painful and nearly bleeding. Ingrid only sighed every time she did, caving into healing it for her but each time saying something along the lines of, _'Well, Emma, if you didn't pick at it so much perhaps you wouldn't have to worry about this…'_ )

(She's not around to heal _this._ )

(Emma will just have to stop scratching, no matter how tempted she is.)

"Are we okay?" she asks, her voice a little too brittle.

"Of course we are," Killian tells her, his hand tightening on hers. "We'll always be alright, Swan."

Emma smiles, trying her best to come to terms with this. He smiles back, just a small upturn of his lips.

"Now," he says carefully, his back straightening and a little mirth returning to his eyes. "What grand adventure shall we embark on today? I wonder what shopkeeper is going to have us save their kitten from a nearby tree. I do so hope you're adept at climbing, Swan, I've a bit of an advantage with the netting on my ship..."

Killian goes on like that, back to himself or at least pretending to be. Emma's grin becomes more genuine, shaking her head in earnest amusement. It seems they should be able to go back to normal, now. Or at least, something close to it.

They'll be okay.

-/-

They're onto the next village, this one only a few hours away. There's something different between them, now, the longing and the affection both a little stronger. They know each other, really know each other, through and through. They've seen every part of each other - literally - and there's not much else left to hide. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

When he opens the door for her to a little carpentry shop, she meets his eyes for a second before quickly averting them.

They'll be fine. That doesn't mean things aren't awkward.

Emma sighs as he draws his arm around her, leaning against his shoulder as they walk into the shop. The little gestures come more easily, now, seem more natural. It's more of something they're allowing themselves rather than something they're putting on for show.

Touching for the sake of the mission, now _there's_ an excuse.

Her eyes flit around the shop, various projects of the carpenter propped up for sale. It's nice woodworking, she's admit, though she's far from an expert. Everything is ornately carved and looks splinter-free. Plus, there are a few homey pieces and she's certain they can claim that they're searching for furniture for their new home.

Killian greets the shopkeeper effusively, leaning forward to shake his hand and going off on a tangent about how he's looking for various pieces of furniture for their newlywed cottage.

Great minds think alike.

The man raises his eyebrows at Killian's enthusiasm - who is gesturing wildly about something she isn't paying much attention to, his accented voice rising and falling - but just points towards the few chairs and tables he has completed. "You want anything else," he says, taciturn but polite, "just let me know. I charge a fee for special orders."

They both nod before moving back to examine a few pieces of furniture. Emma's eyes flit around for any trace of a woman at the shop - Killian is a few paces in front of her, studiously looking at a small wooden table - but she doesn't find any. It's pretty cut and dry, this place, just the work and nothing else.

"Do you have a wife or a husband?" Emma asks, trying to keep her voice light as her hand skims over the back of a rocking chair. "We are getting married soon, so I guess we're kind of just…" she laughs a little nervously, hoping it comes across as an anxious soon-to-be newlywed rather than a liar, "curious as to what it's like."

The shopkeeper - Frederick, if the name carved into the front is any indication - just grunts in response. He doesn't seem to be much for revealing any facts about himself. "Been married for quite a while, now."

"Really?" Emma questions curiously, raising her eyebrows. She's hoping he either has a wife or his husband has a sister.

"Any chance we could talk to them?" Killian adds, coming on a bit too strong as he steps beside her, settling his hand at her waist.

"Why are you two so nosy?" Frederick asks as he stares at the two of them. His facial expression is flat, but has shoulders tense and his knuckles go white as he grips on his counter.

Emma's mouth opens and shuts, at a loss for how to respond. Killian's grip tightens around her waist a bit protectively. "Easy, mate. We were just asking."

"Yeah, well," he scoffs derisively, scowling as he glares at them. "Ask somewhere else. I'd see myself out, if I were you two."

A blonde woman who must be his wife comes around from the back of the shop at the noise, pressing a kiss to Frederick's cheek and barely paying the two of them a passing glance. "Everything alright, Frederick?" She murmurs, her hand coming up to rub along the curve of his jaw.

Killian cocks his head to the side contemplatively as he studies the woman. Emma gnaws at her lip, looking anxious.

Frederick visibly softens, leaning into her touch. "It will be. I was just getting the two of them out of my shop," he replies, looking up to glare at them.

"You got it," Emma grimaces, walking backwards and out of Killian's grasp. "We were just leaving-"

Killian grabs her arm just as she turns to leave, his fingers wrapping around her forearm. "Swan…"

"You really want to relive the Aurora thing?" Emma mutters under her breath, shaking her head as she stills. His hand stays on her arm. "This guy...I doubt mysterious tattoo woman is hiding somewhere here."

"You doubt, hm?" Killian asks, grinning broadly for some baffling reason.

"Yeah," she states shortly. "I doubt."

Killian lifts his head to look up at the couple at the counter, a grin on his lips. Surely enough, the woman's eyes meet his and hers go wide with surprise.

"You!" the woman exclaims, turning a finger to point at him accusingly. "You're Captain Hook!"

Frederick blinks. "You two know each other? Wait, _Captain Hook?_ "

"Aye," he says, positively beaming as he rocks back on his heels. Emma can only gape at him in shock, at a loss for what he could mean. "That we do. You have no idea how long we've been looking for you, lass. It's reassuring to see you've taken my advice well."

"You saved my life," the woman - _hopefully_ tattoo woman - says in disbelief, shaking her head. "The worst assassin ever, really. Who tells the person they were sent to kill to _run_?"

"The worst assassin ever," he repeats, a playful lilt in his voice. "That's precisely who. I hate to barge into your shop and demand your assistance, but my traveling companion and I," he gestures to Emma, who gives the woman a tight smile, "need a bit of help and we think you may be the only one that can do it."

So, tattoo woman _has_ finally been found. Emma was beginning to think their method of canvassing was useless, after having it go wrong so many times.

"That must make you…" the woman trails off, her eyes widening as she considers his words. "The Savior?"

"Hi," Emma replies, lifting her hand up for a small, sheepish wave. It's never going to get any less weird. "Nice to meet you."

"I'm Abigail," the woman says quickly, moving around the front display in order to shake Emma's hand. "It's nice to see that you're safe. I was engaged to your father at some point, you know," she says, shaking her head. "Nice guy. Never get into an arranged marriage, alright?"

Emma just blinks, trying in vain to absorb all the information. "Engaged to my…"

"She won't," Killian reassures Abigail with a grin, setting his wooden hand on Emma's back. She's still stuck on _'engaged to your father at some point'_.

"The Savior," Frederick repeats, still running a little behind. He leans against his display a little thoughtfully. "Your father saved my life."

In addition to once being engaged to his current wife, it seems. Emma can only smile, a little awkwardly, as she reaches to shake his hand as well. It's a small world, after all.

"And you saved my wife's," Frederick adds, leaning over to shake Killian's hand. "I apologize for trying to kick the two of you out, but we've been a little on edge since we left. Always looking over our shoulders, always afraid of what will happen."

"Believe me," Emma sighs, crossing her arms. "We understand that completely."

"I fled here because Frederick has family here," Abigail explains. "Everyone else must think we're dead, by now," she grimaces, shaking her head, "but it's better than the real thing. So, thank you for that, Hook."

Killian gives her a meek shrug, uncomfortable with the attention direction towards him. Emma can only smirk, just a little, at his reaction. She meets his eyes for a beat before he quickly pivots to face Abigail again.

"Your tattoo," Killian says, gesturing to her forearm. "May I see it?"

Abigail looks at him quizzically. "My tattoo?"

"I have a point with this," he assures her.

Abigail lifts up her arm up, then, revealing the same symbol that's on the drawing of the box. She's stared at it long enough, she has it memorized. Emma breathes a sigh of relief.

Killian echoes it. "Don't suppose you have the box that matches it, do you?"

She frowns, looking at her arm. "How did you know? It's an old family heirloom, my arm...that's the crest."

"It's Pandora's box," Emma explains quickly, her chest feeling tight with the hope this conversation gives her. "I know it sounds stupid and crazy, but it is. And that box could be our best shot at defeating Regina. We could trap her in it."

Abigail turns thoughtful. "Pandora's box? My father did always say to never open it, it's just been sitting on a shelf for as long as I can remember."

"It's not as if King Midas touching things hasn't landed him in trouble before," Frederick says dryly. Abigail groans in exasperation.

Emma frowns at the mention of King Midas' name - Regina had taken over his kingdom, along with King George's and a host of smaller kingdoms, in the early days of her reign. No wonder Regina wanted Abigail dead so badly.

"We need to find that box before the guards do," Emma says gravely, her eyes flickering up to meet Abigail's. "Otherwise, we could be in a hell of a lot of trouble."

-/-

Frederick and Abigail give them instructions to their cottage, a short distance away from the market and the key to where the box is locked. It's a lot of trust to put into strangers - well, almost strangers, given Killian's history and her family's - but they accept it gratefully. It'd look a little suspicious to have all four of them trekking through the forest with the box, so the couple promise to meet them in a few hours at the shop. People like this - Emma thinks - are the real saviors of this whole mess.

They find the cottage and the box without much of a fuss. It only takes a few minutes of searching, thanks to Abigail's instructions, and they hold their way to defeat Regina in their the key, it's not difficult at all.

Emma lets out a sigh of relief, grinning widely as she holds the small, black box up for Killian to see. He matches her grin with one of his own, gleeful at the sight of it.

"We did it," she says in wonder, eyes tracing along the sides of the box. It's small, easy gripped with one hand, and it has multiple engraving on its sides. There's a small, red gem at the top of it. "This is it."

Killian comes up behind her, threading his arms around her midsection and putting his hand over hers on the box as he props his chin on her shoulder. He's examining it curiously, his hand steady to avoid knocking the lid of it off.

Killian and opening containers hasn't been working out for them, lately. She's just grateful he's not dismissing it as sparkly dirt. "Looks as if we've found it. Nigh identical to its drawing. I suppose we keep this on hand and then open it once we need to...secure the queen?"

"Sounds about right," Emma murmurs softly, unable to take her eyes off the thing. "Weeks of searching and we found it. We can defeat Regina, now. All of this can finally end."

She turns her head to meet his, her eyes soft and her expression contented.

They hear a commotion outside, the loud sound of hooves smacking against the earth and the thudding of footsteps

"How did they know we were here?" Emma asks, surprised and concerned.

"Bloody hell if I know," Killian grunts, stepping back from her to draw his sword. Emma keeps her hands firmly on the box. "Get out of here, I'll hold them off. Don't let that bloody box out of your-"

In a feat of perfect timing, the door is struck down by a burly looking guard. They groan.

"The box," the guard curses, immediately gesturing to what Emma holds in her hands. "The queen needs it."

"Yeah?" Emma parrots in disbelief, clinging tighter to it in her hands. How the guard figured them out is beyond her - obviously it wasn't Abigail and Frederick talking. "So do I, buddy."

She remembers - loudly, now that she thinks about it - discussing the plan on the way to the cottage. It's easy to see how it bit them in the ass. She cringes at the memory, thinking of snooping guards skulking around dark corners with hawish ears.

The guard stares at her, for a moment, almost perplexed before Killian swipes his sword in his direction. The guard meets Killian's sword with his and they begin sparring. Emma quickly rushes through the house, set on finding a back exit.

She's nearly to the backdoor when another guard appears, a scowl on his face and a sword in his hand. "Give me the box, Savior."

"Go to hell. How did you know where to find us?" Emma asks, her eyes narrowing. She hopes it's not from them blabbing in the village square, even it leads to more questions she'd rather not answer.

"You're not as covert as you like to think you are," the guard snarls, bringing his sword closer to her. It's definitely from them blabbing in the village fucking square. Emma holds the box in one hand, drawing her sword with the other. They go back and forth, the sound of metal clanging in the air as she tries to at least disarm him so she has enough time to escape.

Another man appears through the backdoor, joining his fellow guardmember in trying to fight Emma. She's at a disadvantage, with only one hand available to fight (how does Killian _do_ this?) and groans as she attempts to fend off both of their attacks. Go figure, Regina sends her best swordsmen right when she needs her to _not_.

In all the commotion, one of the guards knocks over a lantern that must be one of the guards'. Emma is pinned with her back to a wall, and winces when one of their swords slices against the hand holding the box. It clatters to the ground and she pales.

Right then, they start to smell smoke. A fire started only feet from where they're fighting, thanks to the fallen lantern.

One guard flees immediately, taking account of the rapid way the fire is spreading and the wooden nature of the cottage. The other guard looks torn, looking between the box and the fire rapidly consuming the house. He seems to make a decision, kicking the box into the flames and running like hell out of the burning cottage.

"No," Emma exclaims, diving for the box, attempting to catch it and grapple it in her hands before it reaches the flames. It skids across the wood, further out of her reach. The flames keep on just getting higher

'Emma!" Emma can hear Killian's voice calling her name from the other room, perhaps panicked at the smell of fire.

"Get out!" Emma wheezes, hoping her voice carries enough for him to take her advice. "I need to get the damn thing, just get out while you can!"

"Emma," Killian calls again, coughing in the smoke as he appears behind her. "Emma, let's go. It's not worth it. Please, Emma, just let it go."

"The box," she says again, growing nearly hysteric. She tries to drag herself further on her elbows, reach for the thing - their only hope at defeating Regina - but it goes straight into the flames.

All Emma can do is gape at it, then at the flames that are getting closer and closer to her. Killian curses from somewhere behind her, but the smoke clouds her ability to see him even if she did turn around. The box is beyond hope, already burned up feet from her, but the flames keep on getting closer and closer. She staggers to her feet, but the smoke is in her eyes - now - engulfing her lungs and heating her skin. Emma clenches her eyes shut, blindly stumbling backwards until a pair of arms wrap around her waist and tug her away from the flames. She clings to them, to the hot leather of his sleeves, her legs stumbling with his.

Killian just snakes his arm under her knees and lifts her up, both of them coughing and hiccuping through the smoke. Emma holds tight to his jacket, tucking her head in his chest in an attempt to insulate herself from the smoke. Killian walks out of the cabin and falls to his knees with her in his arms once they're finally out in the fresh air. He sits up, pulling her into his lap and clinging tightly to her. Emma props her chin on his shoulder. Killian buries his face in her hair.

Emma hacks and coughs - her throat burning, her eyes watering, and her lungs desperately trying to recuperate. Killian is only slightly better - wheezing and turning his head away from her in an attempt to shield her from it. It seems the guards - just three of them, from the looks of it - are already long gone. Regina never seemed to teach her men bravery.

"The box," she manages to get out, still holding onto him. "I lost the…it's gone."

Killian sighs heavily, tucking her further into his chest. "I didn't lose _you_ , Swan. That's what matters."

Emma shakes her head vehemently, even as coughs continue to wrack her body. "It's gone, just like that. That was our one shot at beating Regina, Killian. What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

"We'll find a way," he replies fiercely, clinging to her even tighter with a desperate ferocity. He acts as if she'll be engulfed in flame the second he lets her go, even with her head under his chin and his arms wrapped so snugly around her that they might leave bruises "You're alive and that's what counts, you're the Savior. We'll find a way."

"How?" Emma asks, her voice cracking. "That was...that was it, Killian. We spent weeks looking for it. That was our one lead. I'm supposed to be," she swallows, trying to regain her composure as Killian moves his hand to rake through her hair reassuringly. They're still seated outside of the cabin, the fire slowly dying out without much more to burn. If there's one good thing about the cold and the snow, it's that it suppresses a forest fire from breaking out. "I'm supposed to be the Savior and I just ruined our one shot at defeating her. That box is burnt to a crisp. It's _over_."

"It's not over," he tells her, voice insistent as he brings her chin up to face him. Killian's mouth is set in a hard line and his eyes don't leave hers. "You hear me, Swan? It's not over. We'll find a way. We will. You will. I've seen you overcome so much over the past few weeks, Emma, I know what you're capable of and I know what you can do. You must give yourself more credit. You won't fail."

"I just did-"

"You won't," he repeats, his words even firmer, "Regina will be defeated. You will succeed. I know you will."

"How can you believe that?" Emma asks, angry and upset and confused all at once. His certainty doesn't wane and his hand stays at her face, even as her eyes narrow. "How can you believe that after all this?"

"I believe in you," Killian says simply.

Emma doesn't know what to say in response. She can tell he means every word of it, his eyes shining with the hope he swears he sees in her.

Her eyes go to the dirt underneath them instead as she sighs. "We have to find Abigail and Frederick and tell them what happened. This is their cabin and we-"

"The _guards_ burned it down," Killian reminds her, carefully disentangling himself from her as he stands up. He grabs her hand to help her up with him. "They will understand that, Emma. This isn't the first time they've been deprived of a home because of the queen, lass. As long as they have each other, they'll be fine.."

"Yeah," Emma replies, brittle, as she stands and wraps her arms around herself. "And what happens when the queen succeeds in getting to them and kills them?"

Killian's arm comes to wrap around her, holding her to him as they begin to walk. He seems to have forgotten their plans to keep their distance - a protective measure that Emma is sure is going to fail, just like everything else has - and is instead insistent on touching her if only to reassure himself that she's still there. At least, this is what she's assuming is making him so needy, she's too distracted by her abject failure to focus on it much. "She won't, Emma. You'll make sure of that."

Emma huffs in frustration, stepping away from him and causing his hand to fall at his side. "You keep...you keep saying that. You keep on having all of this faith in me, you keep saying this will all work out, but it's not true! None of it is true! I'm supposed to be the Savior, I'm supposed to be the one thing that can stop all of this, I'm supposed to be someone people can put their faith in and I've failed all of it! I've failed them, I've failed you, I've failed myself!"

Her voice wavers on the last word, so furious with herself tears prick at the back of her eyes. Killian just stares at her for a moment. There's a brief silence for a moment as he does so, his eyes studying her in a way that makes her shift uncomfortably under his perusal.

"Listen, I just…" Emma sighs, her eyes downcast and her shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry. I just can't be the hero that everyone thinks I can. Today just proved it."

He walks up to her slowly, carefully, as if she's an animal he doesn't care to spook away with any sudden movements. Emma keeps her eyes firmly pinned to the ground, on the frozen leaves under her feet. She shivers.

His hand is warm when it comes up under her chin, lifting it so her eyes meet his. She's embarrassed that hers are tearstained, but his are filled with a quiet sort of intensity.

"Don't ever," he begins, his voice soft rather than harsh, "ever believe that you've failed your people, Emma. Don't ever believe that you've failed me. Don't ever believe that you've failed yourself. You have absolutely," his words are almost in a whisper, calm and steady, "changed everyone's life for the better. You don't need a bloody box to do that, Swan. You saved me so many times I can't count them with the fingers I have left. You've saved so many people, Swan, from Rapunzel to Phillip to Grace to Marian to…"

He exhales sharply, seemingly out of breath. "It seems I can't even fit them all in one breath, Swan. You've done so much already because you _are_ a hero, a damn good one at that. Not letting yourself die over a bloody box doesn't make you any less of one. We can't always win. But what makes you a hero," his thumb runs over the curve of her jaw, his eyes tender as he gazes at her, "is that you will always, always fight. Don't give up now, love."

Emma feels a little tension leave her at his words, in spite of how much her thoughts are still set on her failures. "You think so?"

She asks the words reluctantly, her eyes hesitant. He smiles softly in return, pressing her forehead against his.

"I know it, Emma. You can do this. Box or no box, we'll find a way."

Emma sags against him, relief filling her a little at his words. They can't change the fact that the box is gone, with that their plan at beating Regina, but they do make her feel a little less guilty. Maybe he's right. Maybe they can get out of this, somehow. She's the Savior, after all, she has to find another way to get her.

Killian holds her to him, then, with his own sigh of relief as he sways with her in his arms. He presses a kiss to her temple. "You are a hero, Emma. And you're a fighter. You are not a failure."

-/-

They get back to the shop shortly after, their steps heavy and their faces drawn. Emma winces almost as soon as she sees the couple's optimistic faces.

"The guards burned the cottage down," Emma says by means of explaining what's happened. Her chest feels heavy with regret - here are two people who helped her and she got their home destroyed. Killian looks at the two of them, frowning in sympathy.

Frederick and Abigail are, understandably, a little aghast to hear what has become of their home. Their idyllic cottage is now nothing but ash since they gave her the keys. Emma would be a terrible house sitter, she supposes, if she managed all that in less than an hour.

It's nearly dark outside, the sun setting and giving way to dusk. She can still smell the smoke on their clothes. "I'm sorry," Emma tells them, crossing her arms around herself.

"Did you get the box?" Abigail asks, clearing her throat a little. Frederick looks sorrowful.

"I was," Emma inhales deeply, steadying herself. Killian's hand comes to rest on the small of her back, trying to keep her upright. "I was so close. And the fire...Killian only just barely got me out in time."

Abigail's frown deepens, her eyes flitting across the two of them and taking note of the ashes that cover them. "Are you two alright?"

They both nod.

"Good," Abigail exhales in relief, scrubbing her hand over her face. "That's what matters. That the two of you are safe. We can stay in the shop - we have a few rooms attached to it - but we can't replace you two."

Frederick nods in a agreement. "I hate Regina more and more every day. This only shows how much more she needs to be defeated."

Emma is a little surprised by their reaction. She was expecting them to be angry with her, at least disappointed. Their home _burned down_ under her watch. She frowns, her eyes going to her boots.

Abigail notices. "Emma, can we talk for a moment?"

She jerks her head up, startled and confused. Maybe this is where she's going to tell her how angry she is with her, how disappointed she is, how she hoped for so much more from the Savior. Emma nods, though, knowing this is a conversation Abigail deserves to have. Even if it's just yelling at her, she deserves it.

Killian looks a little worried as she walks away. Emma gives him a tight smile she hopes is reassuring.

Abigail leads her to one of the back rooms of the shop. She hops up on a counter, sitting on it and looking at Emma expectantly.

"Sit down," Abigail instructs, patting the space beside her. "You look exhausted."

"Thanks," Emma grunts, moving to sit. "I'm so, so sorry for -"

"You have nothing to apologize for. That was the work of Regina, not you," Abigail reminds her.

Emma's chest tightens at the immediate forgiveness she doesn't deserve.

" _I'm_ sorry that they destroyed the box," Abigail murmurs, sadness coloring her voice. "I wish I could…"

"You've done all you can," Emma tells her, a bittersweet smile on her lips. She should be the one comforting her, wishing she could do more, not the other way around. "Thank you. So much."

Abigail sighs, scooting next to her. "After all your family has done for me...for mine. Even after Hook helped me escape, I couldn't get you what you needed in time."

"Hey," Emma protests. "You did all you could. Believe us, we appreciate it. This isn't your fault. It's mine. I'm the one who let it slip through my fingers. They destroyed your _home_. I'm the Savior and I still...I blew the one shot we had."

Her voice turns caustic and the corners of her lips pin downwards. It's hard not to blame herself for this, especially when all evidence points to it being her responsibility. Emma may be a lot of things that she isn't proud of, but she'll always own up to her fuck ups.

This is one, very big, fuck up.

"The self blaming route, huh?" Abigail asks wryly, her face puckering up as if she's just tasted something sour. "You and your parents both."

Emma considers her words for a moment, biting her lip. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know," Abigail starts, sounding almost conversational, as she leans back on her elbows against the countertop. "When I first met your parents, I couldn't stand either of them. Here was a man I was being forced to marry - because of lineage or whatever excuses men with crowns claim to get themselves pretty young girls in their beds - while the man I really loved was turned to gold because of my father's own greed. That's a long story for another time, but I was pissed, to say the least. I'm _not_ a reward for slaying dragons. Give me a sword and I'll learn to kill the damn thing myself."

Emma's expression becomes a little confused, lost in her rapid fire storytelling, but she nods all the same. "Understandable."

"So," Abigail exhales, "I had no time for dealing with your father and made that clear, though outwardly I was the docile and doting daughter. I had to satisfy my father, see, but I didn't want James - the name your father used to use - to be under any more delusions than I was, I hoped he got that this was a decision made by my father and not by me. He respected that, surprisingly. And then, I grew to gradually respect him. That was after he met your mother when she was robbing our carriage, though, your mom scared the living hell out of me. Next thing I know, he's falling head over heels for that bandit while I was contemplating acceptable ways of committing patricide. I helped him get to her. And in return, he saved Frederick."

Emma's eyebrows furrow, still lost by why Abigail has decided to tell her all this. It's not that she isn't grateful to hear about her parents, to learn more about them from someone who knows. It's just that she's not sure what the point of this story _now_ is.

"Your parents didn't start out believing that they could have anything, not even each other," Abigail explains slowly, her eyes flickering to Emma. It seems she picked up on the unasked question. "Your father was constantly agonizing over how to be the best prince, the best hero he could be even when he was pretending to be his long lost twin bro- you know what, we don't have time enough for me to get into _that_ \- but he often didn't live up to his own standards. Your mother, too, was the same way. Snow blamed herself over and over again for Regina turning out the way she did, resorting to mass murder for a child telling a secret. Even though, obviously, not a single part of that was really her fault, she felt guilty."

"And what?" Emma asks, frowning. "I'm doing the same thing for being frustrated with myself for losing the box?"

"Not exactly," Abigail shrugs, sighing. "But along those lines, yes. You're never going to be perfect, Emma. Savior or not, no heroes are. And not everything that goes wrong is your fault. You can't accept all the blame for everything and lose yourself in crippling self doubt if you really want to get anything _done_. And you're a lot like your parents, I can already tell, but just like them you're going to have to learn to forgive yourself."

Emma sits still, mulling the words over as she presses her lips together. "So, an abridged version of what you're saying is that everyone screws up?"

"Yep," Abigail nods with a wry grin. "Court just teaches you how to say that as a long, drawn out life lesson. Your parents did that, too. Be grateful you didn't have a royal upbringing or you'd be just as insufferable as we are."

Emma smiles in spite of herself, shaking her head. "Not insufferable, just...convincing. I still can't believe tattoo woman is my _almost_ step-mother."

Abigail grimaces at that. "Almost step-mother? Really? There has got to be a better way to say that."

"Blame it on my lack of courtly upbringing," Emma deadpans.

Abigail laughs before she leans in to hug her. Emma accepts the gesture, a little surprised, and her hands come up to the woman's shoulders.

"Your parents would be proud of you, you know. For better or for worse, they would. One burnt box isn't going to change that," Abigail reassures her, her hand patting Emma's back. "They'd be ridiculously proud. They _are_ ridiculously proud of you, wherever they're hiding."

Emma melts, a little, feeling moisture build up in her eyes at her words. She returns the woman's embrace a little tightly. "I hope so."

-/-

Killian keeps his eyes on where the two women are seated, cautiously eyeing the exchange for any hint of a threat to Emma. He can't hear the conversation, but he can see it. It's not that he doesn't trust Abigail, not truly. It's just he understands what losing your home can do to you, the anger - justified or not - it can make you feel. The exchange seems more constructive, however, the more he watches it. Abigail's posture showing nothing but understanding.

He finds himself incredibly grateful for the kindness of others.

Frederick clears his throat and Killian turns around to face him. He scratches behind his ear, a little flustered. "Sorry, mate."

"Understandable," Frederick shrugs. "You're worried about your Emma, I'm the same about Abigail."

Killian coughs uncomfortably at the use of the possessive. "Ah, we're not...she's not mine."

"Of course," Frederick modifies sagely. "Women are their own and their own alone. Abigail had enough of being treated like cattle, after the arranged marriage situation-"

"No," Killian protests quickly, shaking his head. "I don't digress with that assessment, certainly, but we aren't together."

"Oh," Frederick says, confused.

Killian's face twists into a tight smile. "Aye. Apologies, I can see how that'd be misleading."

"The way you two act…" Frederick suggests, raising his eyebrows. For a man that has just lost his home, he's handling it remarkably well if he can question Killian about the state of his romantic affairs. "I don't mean just in the shop, initially, either. You two clearly care for one another."

Killian grunts, neither agreeing or disagreeing. His feelings must be obvious by his facial expressions, nonetheless.

"And then of course there are the stories…" Frederick trails off.

Killian tilts his head back and laughs, "Ah, I do believe I've heard some of them. All false, I assure you."

"It's especially surprising given what they're calling you, now."

Killian sends him a befuddled look. "And what are they calling me?"

"You're sort of…" Frederick begins contemplatively, his eyes narrowing in concentration. "You're the Savior's savior."

Killian raises his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

He clears his throat, his hand coming up to rub at his temples as he continues with his train of thought. "That's what they've been calling you, I think. Captain Hook has some bad connotations."

Killian snorts. "It's meant to. The moniker is hardly meant to win people over."

"The Savior's savior, however…" Frederick trails off thoughtfully. "It's much more positive. Shows what a team the two of you make, saving the kingdom and all the rest. It reminds me of how people used to talk about Snow and Charming."

He blinks, uncertain of how to respond to that. Just then, Abigail and Emma reenter the room and he doesn't get the opportunity to.

"Everything okay?" Emma asks, her eyes flitting between the two men.

"Aye," Killian nods, pasting a grin on his lips. "Everything is fine, love."

She frowns, but leaves it alone.

They part ways with the couple regretfully, wishing each other the best in their future journeys. Frederick pats his back, a bit awkwardly. Abigail leans over to embrace Emma once more in goodbye, murmuring something in her ear that he doesn't quite pick up on.

"Thank you," Emma tells the woman sincerely, her chin propped on her shoulder. Killian watches the exchange carefully. "Thank you so much for your help."

Abigail leans back, shrugging as if it's no trouble at all. "Come back anytime, Emma. Like I said, you remind me a hell of a lot of your parents. And your parents...they were good people. So are you."

At least, Killian thinks, Emma knows she has more people than just him who believe in her.

-/-

It's not until they're inside the next inn at yet another village - it's a wonder they never ran out of places to visit - that the weight of the day fully sinks in. They're seated next to each other on the bed, both too exhausted to do much else and too restless to sleep. Emma still seems haunted by the loss of the box, a frown planted firmly on her face as she stares at the wall opposite her.

Killian wishes she wouldn't continue to punish herself, like this.

He wishes she knew, really. How brave she was, how important she was, how _good_ she was. Killian wishes he could replace all her uncertainties and insecurities with the sureness and faith he has in every day, make her see herself the way he sees her. Not just as the Savior, but as Emma. Emma, the fundamentally empathetic, kind, shrewd, powerful, beautiful woman she is.

Box or no box, Regina can't take that from her.

"I'm proud of you, you know," he settles for instead, taking her hand in his in a way that he hopes might pass as a friendly gesture rather than the alternative. How they can be remotely casual and laid back with one another after he's made love to her is a little bit of a difficult concept, but he's truly trying.

For both of their sakes, he's trying.

Emma's mouth parts, her eyes widening as she looks at him. He's worried for a brief moment she takes offense to the statement, that it seems more condescending and thin than anything else and, _bloody hell_ -

"Not that this pirate's opinion counts for much, of course," Killian shrugs, attempting to be casual. "But I thought you should know that."

Emma's answering smile - a smile, _this_ he's glad to see - is a little watery. "And I'm proud of you. You've done...a hell of a lot of good, whether you admit it or not. You're not the man I met who was posing as a blacksmith anymore," she murmurs contemplatively, lifting her hand to brush a strand of his hair out of his eyes. "You're an even better man than you were before."

The tips of his ears must be bright red. "And you're hardly the healer's daughter anymore.

Emma shrugs. "I guess we've both changed then."

"I suppose we have," Killian murmurs, his eyes carefully studying her. "And I've gotten the privilege of seeing you become an ever greater woman every day I'm in your company. Today was no exception, Emma. You should know that."

Her grin at his words is small and hesitant, but it may as well be blinding by the way it makes his heart swell. "At least we helped some people, doing all this."

"Aye," Killian agrees, nodding. "This wasn't a worthless pursuit, Emma. We can find another way, find something else to do. We've been able to accomplish a fair bit, just by interrupting our mission constantly."

That makes her still, for a moment, and she bites her lip thoughtfully. "We have, haven't we?"

He nods, a tad lost.

"Maybe this is how we can defeat Regina," Emma contemplates aloud, her voice level and quiet. "Maybe it's just this, at first. Not a grand act of taking her down, just...helping people. The people that are hurt the most by what she's done."

Killian raises his eyebrows. "Are you saying you want to help every damn village in the kingdom?"

Emma takes a beat to reply. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying."

He sighs heavily, but the expression on his face doesn't show any real irritation. "Looks like I am, too, then."

Emma's eyes flicker up to meet his. "Are you sure? You don't...you don't have to. I know I haven't exactly been the best with the quest thing -"

"If you're attempting to condemn yourself for not incinerating yourself for that bloody box yet again, I may actually leave, Swan-"

She rolls her eyes. "Point being, you signed up to defeat Regina. Not to play small time hero with whatever people seem to need. I'd understand completely if you decided that this isn't for you."

"Emma," he says, voice sure and insistent. His hand comes over hers, curling over the top of it, and his eyes are intense on hers. "You know full well that I'm not here just to defeat Regina."

Her breath hitches, though she tries to hide it. "I'd understand if you were."

"I'm not," he repeats insistently, turning so that he's facing her even more. She has to believe him, she has to know. "Swan, if you think I'd abandon you now, after everything, you don't know me at all."

Emma gives him a tight smile. "I just don't want you to feel obligated, is all."

What Killian feels is much, much more than obligation. "Believe me, Swan. The past weeks that I've spent with you have been a far cry better than the past centuries."

Emma stills, at that, going rigid. Killian is worried he's gone too far, said too much for a moment. He studies her carefully, the way her jaw hangs open and the wonder in her eyes.

It isn't that he's terribly offended her, he doesn't believe. She's just genuinely stunned, as if no one has truly told her how much they appreciate her before. Not like this. The realization makes him feel almost angry, indignant on her behalf.

"You're serious," she states - though it sounds more like a question - her lips still parted with astonishment.

"Blame it on exceptional company," he says lightly (though his words are surely the farthest thing from light). If no one has appreciated her in the way that she deserves, told her how much of a treasure she truly was, told her what light she surely brought into their lives, that's for them to be ashamed of. Emma deserves to hear the words every single day.

The past centuries were miserable.

This - as convoluted and inelegant as their current predicament is - is something like paradise. Even if he never feels the warmth of her touch quite like he did last night, he can still feel it in the ways that matter. She's here. She's safe. And he'll be at her side as long as she'll have him.

(The side of him still pulled taut by revenge protests the idea, warns him that this is the kind of foolishness that he was trying so dearly not to fall in, but Killian can only ignore it.)

"I've been given another title, you know, much to my surprise."

"Yeah?" Emma asks curiously, raising her eyebrows. "And what's that, _Captain Hook_?"

"The Savior's savior, believe it or not," Killian murmurs, shaking his head as his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek.

"Oh," Emma says quietly, unsure of what else to say.

"You don't need a savior, lass," he explains, a wry grin on his lips. "Believe me, I know this."

"You have saved me before," Emma points out, cocking her head to the side. "On multiple occasions - today included. I'd be burnt to nothing if you didn't get me out of there."

"And you've saved me," Killian observes, raising his eyebrows. "Not many women would have the patience to lead an amnesiac, emotional, overly-affectionate man around. Then, there was getting me out of the cell. Saving my neck from guards in our skirmishes so many times I can't begin to list them all. Not letting me rob that bloody carriage likely saved my arse, gods I was _insufferable_. The snakes, too."

"Who could forget the snakes?" Emma snorts, eyeing him with some softness as she tugs at their intertwined hands.

"Then the cave that almost drowned us," Killian adds. "Hard to forget that, I still have no bloody idea how you managed to get us out of that one."

"I wasn't aware you were keeping an active tally," Emma says dryly. "So, what does that make me? Six out of what? I'll give you some of the saving from the swords of guards, too. You solved the riddle. Then the guards, that first day. Well, the first day you stopped posing as a blacksmith, not-"

"We'll call it even," Killian snickers affectionately, squeezing her hand. "Point is, it's hardly fair to label me your Savior when you're quite capable of being your own."

"Maybe the Savior's savior could just be the person that keeps her sane, hm?" Emma suggests, bumping her shoulder with his. "Prevents her from giving up, from losing faith in herself."

Killian grins, at that, pulling his hand from hers to wrap around her shoulder and tuck her into him. She obliges, her chin settling on his shoulder. "I quite like that idea, I must admit."

"We're doing pretty poorly at this whole 'keeping our distance' thing, huh?" Emma sighs, nuzzling further into his neck.

"If you're asking for a repeat of last night, lass, I'm happy to oblig-"

Emma punches him in the shoulder lightly. "Slow down there, sailor."

He can't resist the temptation to tease her. "It would just be fulfilling my duties as the Savior's savior, Swan. I can't imagine a better way to make you feel better about yourself…"

"Killain," Emma murmurs, her tone warning. "We shouldn't."

"I know," he says softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her hair. "I know."

"We just need to...slow down. See what happens once this is all over, how we feel at the end of all of this."

It's not bad advice.

Or it wouldn't be, if he wasn't already so unsure about what his future holds for him. A life with Emma, her walls down and her smile light and a lifetime of this - saving people (because Regina or not - he knows the woman won't be able to stop), sharing quips, waking up like they did that morning (without the awkward aftermath), just the feeling of her warm and safe in his arms. Killian could spend his life like this, Emma at his side if she were willing to have him, doing the things that aided rather than hurt. He could be a man his family could have been proud of, that even Lieutenant Jones in all his idealism could respect.

He could be a hero, the man he used to dream of becoming.

But that would all be short lived with Rumplestiltskin on the loose, anyway. It'd only be a matter of time before the Dark One finished what he started. And he's already lost one woman he cares for to the man - the thought of Emma being subject to his -

It's a pretty fantasy, is what it is.

He should know better to reach for it, but he's drawn like a moth to the flame.

"Aye," Killian agrees quietly. "We'll see what happens in the end."


	12. Together

_**A/N: Hey! Happy Wednesday, I hope you guys are having a great one! Thank yous go to - as always - Amber, Steph, and Ella for being the amazing people they are. This fic would not be here without them. I owe them a lot.**_

 _ **I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!**_

-/-

The opportunity arises for them to help someone - it's weird that this is their mission now, as vague as it is - the next day. Emma wasn't predicting that the new mission would manifest itself _that_ quickly, but Regina left a lot of people in desperate need of help. It seems all they have to do is train their eyes around guard posts in the next village and - boom - a person who needs help is nearby. This time, it's in the form of a redhead struggling in the grip of a particularly burly looking guard.

"Seriously? Can you please just let me go? I'm really not appreciating the hostility, here. What did I ever do to you?" The woman asks incredulously, trying to tug her arm out of his grasp.

"Hey!" Emma shouts, drawing her sword and rushing closer to the exchange. "Let her go."

Killian is right at her side, his own sword drawn. "Listen to the lady, unless you'd like to make a right fool of yourself in the middle of the square. I believe your comrades are drinking in the tavern, so," he sighs dramatically, toe kicking aside dirt in a gesture of boredom, "let's make this easy, mate."

"Who the hell are you?" the guards snarls, removing his own sword from his belt.

"Guess," Emma bites out, her stance rigid.

"Well, well, well," the guard drawls out, nearly chortling as he eyes Emma and Killian and waves his sword offhandedly. "I should have guessed that if I wanted to catch the Savior, all I'd have to do is help the nearest vulnerable-"

The woman kicks him in the shin, then, taking advantage of his brief moment of distraction to grasp for his sword. Which she gets, with the guard too doubled over with pain to cling onto it properly.

"Aha!" the redhead exclaims excitedly, beaming at the weapon in her hands. "What do you call this, again?"

Emma and Killian exchange baffled looks.

"A sword?" Emma suggests slowly.

"That's right," she murmurs wondrously, as if she didn't just dispatch a guard with it. She turns it over in her hands, staring at it with unbridled curiosity. When the guard rises again, once he seems to have found his composure, she just sharply moves the hilt of it back to meet his head. He collapses, unconscious.

"You didn't know what a sword was?" Killian asks skeptically, toeing the guard over with his boot so he rests on his back.

She frowns. "Erm, I'm still new at this. I'm sorry," her eyes go to the collapsed guard, her brow furrowed, but her expression lightens as she meets their eyes. "Thanks for trying to help me, by the way. I'm Ariel!"

"Emma," Emma says cautiously, sheathing her sword once more.

Killian keeps his drawn, his expression suspicious "What do you mean, new at this?"

"The whole," Ariel gestures to her dress covered lower half with a small shrug, "leg thing. Human thing, too. I learned a lot from what I managed to collect from your world, but it's been weird all around. Eric helped, a lot, but," a somber expression crosses her face again, "but I can't find him. We got separated a few days ago and I've been looking for him ever since."

"Leg thing?" Killian's face furrows in confusion.

"Human thing?" Emma adds, perplexed by the woman's scattered explanation.

"I was a mermaid," Ariel says the words a little exasperatedly, her mouth upturned and her head bobbing self-deprecatingly. "Once. Then I got legs, so I think I'm human now. A little wobbly, but human."

She nods at herself, after a beat, apparently satisfied with her own answer.

"You were a mermaid," Emma repeats dubiously.

"Yup," Ariel nods again. "I was. I wasn't a very good one, though, and I just...I liked the idea of being around humans, better. Not that my family understood, but I did. I never really fit in under the sea. And Eric - he found me wandering around once I got a hold of one of these," she gestures to the thick bracelet on her wrist as if it requires no explanation. "And he took me into his cottage. I was mute, those first few days, because my throat was so used to the water that the air made it _hurt_ to speak, but he seemed to get it anyway."

"I see," Emma murmurs, apparently trying to keep up with Ariel's storytelling.

Killian grimaces. "A mermaid, you say?"

"I really don't know how many times I need to repeat that," Ariel's face scrunches in confusion. "Is that a human thing? Eric was like that at first, too, but maybe-"

"No," Emma reassures her quickly. "It's not a human thing. You just don't see a lot of mermaids turning human, is all."

"Oh," Ariel says, her mouth forming an 'o' of realization. "Got it."

"You said you lost someone important to you? Eric?" Emma questions curiously, sending a look to Killian. He still has his sword raised and his chin upturned in something like defiance.

"Um, why does your friend still have his sword up?" Ariel asks, frowning at the blade in his hand. "Is it stuck like that?"

Emma sighs. "No. Killian, put it down."

"That's his name, Killian? When I introduced myself, then you introduced yourself, he didn't. He just kind of got strange about me being a mermaid."

Killian sighs heavily. "I've had experience with your kind."

"And I've had experience with yours," she points out readily, but not impolitely. "It doesn't mean you get to make assumptions. Pirates aren't all mean. Mermaids aren't all trying to sink boats. I proved one, you can prove the other, _Killian_."

Emma smirks, at that, turning to him. He groans, then puts his sword back in its sheath.

"Fine," he bites out, still feeling a bit uneasy. Friendly or not, he's evidently learned not to trust mermaids. "See? Not mean."

"A little rude," Emma mutters under her breath, nudging him.

"They aren't synonymous, love."

"Really?" Emma squints doubtfully.

"How did you know I was a pirate, anyway?"

"You have kohl around your eyes," Ariel explains, pointing at the feature in question. "Normally, men here don't."

"You don't know what a sword is but you know what kohl is, lass?"

Ariel shrugs, pointing at her own eyes. "What do you think I'm wearing?"

It's easily one of the strangest exchanges she's seen during this entire experience.

Emma frowns, pondering how the hell mermaids managed kohl application underwater before deciding, _you know what_ , not worth it. "Anyway," she interjects with a sigh. "Eric. You need help finding him?"

Ariel perks up. "You would do that?"

"Of course," Emma replies earnestly. "That's kind of...what we do now..."

"Swan," Killian grits out, leaning to whisper in Emma's ear. "Can we talk, for a moment?"

"We're talking right now."

"Alone," his eyes flicker to Ariel and Emma resists the temptation to roll her eyes. Of course he's still suspicious. _Of course_.

"Sorry," Emma apologizes to Ariel, stepping back a few paces. She spots the guard, still on the ground, and sighs. She knows it'll be suspicious if they stay standing around a body. "Do you want to meet us at the tavern?"

Ariel nods, her enthusiasm fading just a little at the sign of his lasting skepticism. "Sure. I'll give you guys the time you need."

"Thank you," Emma says sincerely, walking the opposite direction Ariel turns in with Killian at her side.

"Seriously?" she starts off with, sighing heavily and putting her head in her hands in embarrassment. "How can you be so rude to someone that nice? That girl is like sunshine personified and you're being," Emma gestures to his sulking form, arms crossed and frowning, "brooding and unfriendly."

"You'd be 'brooding and unfriendly' as well, I daresay, if you had experiences like I have with her kind."

"Yes," Emma rolls her eyes. "I'm sure the fact that she used to have fins is a real threat. We all know fins make the best sword holders. All the flapping," she gestures with a wavelike motion of her arm, "I'm sure she could have accidentally whacked us with her tail if we got close enough. You're right. She's completely suspicious."

"They've sunk many a ship with that 'flapping', as you call it. What makes you so sure a mermaid can be trusted?" Killian asks gruffly, unamused by her sarcasm.

Emma groans. "She looks like a real threat to society, what with all the smiling and cheerfulness," Emma deadpans, her voice flat. "What? Is she just a composite of your two worst fears? Do the mermaid tails remind you of snakes and does enthusiasm remind you of children? Is that it?"

Killian sputters indignantly. "I'm not afraid of snakes, lass. Nor am I afraid of children. I think I've proven both."

Emma narrows her eyes skeptically.

"Mermaids are notoriously difficult at sea," he explains with a sigh.

"You're notoriously difficult at sea," Emma rebuts immediately, maybe a little petulantly. He sends her an odd look and she sighs. "You're notoriously difficult, you're showing that right now, and I'm willing to bet you'd be the same way at sea."

He raises his eyebrows. Emma groans. This is what she gets for using childish rebuttals, she's almost as bad as he is.

"Look," Emma cuts in, her exasperation finally getting the best of her. "We're helping people, now. That's what we're doing. And Ariel needs our help. I don't care if she used to have a tail. I don't care if she had seven heads and peacock feathers, I care that's she's a nice, kind person who deserves to find her way back to a man she clearly cares about."

"You're taking this 'helping people' project a bit seriously, aren't you?" Killian sighs.

"Yes," Emma emphasizes heatedly. "I am. And you agreed to this, so you should be too. We shouldn't be discriminating on who we help based on..." she furrows her face in concentration, attempting to think of the right way to describe it. "Past fins?"

"Clever," Killian replies dryly.

Emma rolls her eyes. "I think preconceived notions about pirates are a little more justified than mermaid stereotypes, Killian. Put the shoe on the other foot - _okay_ , bad analogy, but still - what if she decided not to help you find someone you cared about because you're a pirate?"

"If she refused to help me find you, you mean?" Killian raises his eyebrows. "Many a mermaid has nearly sunk my ship, Swan."

Emma blanches, for a moment, connecting what he means by finding her. She blinks, brushing the thought away. "And how many pirates have killed mermaids?"

"Less than the amount of mermaids who have killed sailors, I'm sure."

Emma sighs, putting her hand to her forehead in frustration. "Fine. Fine. I'm not an expert in mermaid-pirate relations, but I know enough to know you can't make assumptions about someone based on their kind. So, just put your prejudices aside, Killian. I don't think our grand quest to assist everyone barred people who had gills. Wait, do mermaids have gills?"

Killian groans. His eyes clench shut as he stops in his tracks. She stops beside him. "Alright, Swan. We'll help her."

Emma grins victoriously, lifting her fisted hands into a little cheer. "Great. Then we'll tell Ariel that."

"Of course you'd defend a mermaid," Killian mutters under his breath, once she steps ahead of him. "You're a bloody siren."

Emma swivels her head back. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing," he says quickly, an innocent smile on his lips. "Absolutely nothing, love."

She narrows her eyes doubtfully. "All we have to do is help her find her guy. How hard could it be?"

Hopefully, these won't be her famous last words.

-/-

"So, what do you guys do?" Ariel asks curiously, leaning back in her seat at the tavern. She's across from Emma and Killian, tucked in a table in the corner of the place. "Just randomly come running when you hear damsels in distress?"

"Not just damsels," Emma replies pointedly. "And you proved you had no trouble saving yourself back there."

"True," Ariel concedes, nodding. "But you're offering to help me find Eric?"

"Eric isn't a damsel," Emma grins. "But yes, we are offering to help find him."

"Even him?" Ariel gestures to Killian, doubtfully.

The man next to her is uncharacteristically quiet. Killian will get over himself, eventually. He bristles a little in his seat beside Emma, keeps his eyes downcast and an almost-pout fixed on his lips, but Emma is sure Ariel's enthusiasm will make it nearly impossible to think poorly of her for long.

"Yes," Killian sighs, looking as if he's about to roll his eyes before thinking better of it. Emma is thankful he's managed to restrain himself in this, at least. "Even me, lass. Now where do you think your Eric could be?"

"Well," Ariel frowns, digging into her bag for a moment. "I did find this at his old cottage, which I've never seen before in my life."

She pulls out a knife. Killian laughs. "Evidently you've never seen a sword, either, so I can't say I'm shocked.."

"Killian, be _nice_."

"I know what a knife is - Eric explained that to me when I tried brushing my hair with...well, apparently dinglehoppers are really called forks and you use them to eat," Ariel exhales. "Point is, I know cutlery when I see it. This," she waves the knife a little, "isn't something I recognized."

Emma frowns as Ariel sets it back on the table. Your average utensil isn't exactly the best lead.

Killian eyes narrow, though, and he picks the object up curiously. He turns it upside down and his eyes light up with something like recognition.

"What is it?" Emma asks, craning her neck to look where he's looking. There are two 'B's engraved at the bottom of the knife, but otherwise it appears perfectly normal.

"This," Killian explains, tapping his thumb against the engraving in question, "is Blackbeard."

"The pirate?" Emma asks, her face furrowing in confusion. "What, he labels all his dinnerware?"

"You don't label things on a ship and you lose it, Swan."

"What, so you're telling me there's a big 'KJ' on everything you have on your ship?"

"So you know who has him?" Ariel says, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. "Blackbeard? Do you think he has Eric?"

"I can't imagine why else he'd have his knife in the man's cottage," Killian frowns, setting the knife back down. "Perhaps he imagines he could ransom him, does he have any sort of value?"

"Well," Ariel's nose wrinkles as she tilts her head to the side. "He was a prince."

"Ah," Killian snorts. "That would explain it, then. I would say it's likely he has him, then. Are the king and queen of his kingdom still alive?"

"No," Ariel explains, frowning. "Once the Evil Queen took over their kingdom, I think they were killed. Eric doesn't really like talking about it, but that's what I sort of...gleaned."

"Perhaps Blackbeard didn't know they were no longer alive. Perhaps he hoped they were ousted, but still wealthy enough. He must be getting desperate," Killian contemplates aloud, stroking his beard.

"It must be a rough time to be a pirate," Emma points out. "With Regina and her guards out, I don't think they have much tolerance for piracy. You only got a break because you were helping - or pretending to help - her."

"Wait," Ariel pauses, her eyes flicking to Killian. "You used to work for the Evil Queen? And _I'm_ untrustworthy?"

Killian shrugs. "Pretending to help, lass," he points to his ear, "is the water clogging your ears?"

Ariel looks as if she might punch him. Emma is finding this sentiment increasingly understandable.

"Do we have any idea where Blackbeard could be?" Emma asks, quickly changing the subject. "If you guys were old," she mimics his accent - or attempts to and fails, " _mates,_ maybe you'd know."

"We most certainly were not _'mates'_ , Swan," Killian corrects. "He's an old enemy of mine, actually. Haven't seen him in years, but we had skirmishes before…"

He trails off, his voice becoming a little hard. Before Rumplestiltskin took his heart, she can fill in the blanks. Her hand comes to rest over his. "Yeah. I get it."

"Point is," Killian clears his throat. "I should be able to track him down easily enough. I know his habits, where he usually likes keeping port."

"Great," Ariel says, her eyes lighting up. "So we should be able to find Eric?"

"Aye," Killian nods. "I'm willing to gamble we'll find him. It's winter, so the sea is a little unforgiving at the moment. It'd be smart of him to dock his ship more often."

"Great," Emma exhales, standing up from her seat. "So we should get going."

-/-

He shouldn't have agreed to this.

Killian truly, truly should not have agreed to this.

But what Emma wants from him lately, Emma gets. Whether it be serving as a guide for the sake of a mermaid or facing his old enemy, he is helpless to resist her demands. To be fair, he did agree to help. Part of that was helping those he isn't particularly fond of, even a redheaded pain in the arse.

"It's a little chilly, isn't it?" Ariel remarks as they traverse through the necessary patch of forest. Luckily, the venture to the docks shouldn't take long at all, but it's a half a day's walk nonetheless.

"Well, it is winter," Killian replies.

Emma tugs off her red jacket next to him, handing it over to Ariel. She stops in her tracks, causing Ariel and Killian to follow suit."Here. This might help."

Ariel's eyes widen at the gesture. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Emma shrugs. "I'm not that cold. You can wear it for now."

Ariel visibly softens, a small smile on her lips. "Thank you, Emma."

"It's nothing," Emma reassures her, turning her head back forward as she starts trudging forward again.

Killian smirks a little, shaking his head as he falls back into step with her. "Kind of you, Swan."

Emma rolls her eyes. "How much longer do we have until we get to the docks, Killian?"

Killian points in the distance at the stretch of sea that's becoming more and more visible. "You tell me."

"Thank goodness," Ariel says, folding her arms around herself for warmth in Emma's coat. "So, what will we do once we find Blackbeard?"

"Let me handle that," Killian sighs. Blackbeard may be a pompous prick, but he isn't much in a fight. All he'd need is a bit of a shave and he'd release the prisoner without too much of a fuss. It's one of the reasons he can't stand the man - Killian has no patience for cowardice.

"I'm assuming he's going to need some convincing?" Emma asks, her eyes flickering to the sword at Killian's belt and her hand ghosting over her own.

"Aye," he replies. "That he will. But if Ariel wants her prince back, then her prince she shall get."

"Thanks," Ariel adds, politely, from behind them.

Killian grunts in response. He's got an eye on the mermaid, but she hasn't shown any deceitful tendencies thus far. And Emma is talented at that, even if his skills have been lacking in the past, sniffing out lies in people. If she maintains Ariel is telling the truth, she likely is.

It doesn't mean he has to trust her, though.

Killian stills once he's determined they're close enough to the shore for him to get an eye on where Blackbeard is, rummaging in his satchel to draw out his spyglass.

"Another reason I know you're a pirate," Ariel chirps. "No other person would just carry around one of those."

"Ah, and what would you name it?" Killian asks.

Ariel frowns, at that, mulling it over.

"It's a spyglass," Emma tells her, patting the woman's back. "Don't feel bad. I know people who have had legs for decades without knowing that."

"She's right, lass. Don't feel too poorly," Killian admits, drawing the length of the object in question with his teeth. He's had to learn to adjust with one hand, over the years. It's at least made him more talented with his mouth.

He meets Emma's eyes while his mouth is still closed over it and she flushes, just a tad. Perhaps she could testify to that fact.

Emma clears her throat, fixing her eyes to the water. "So, what do you see?"

Killian brings it up to his eye, squinting through it. It takes him a moment to adjust the spyglass properly. He nearly drops it when he does.

"Bloody hell," Killian exclaims, pressing his spyglass so hard against his eyes he's sure it will leave a mark. He can hardly believe his eyes, but the sight is unmistakable. He knows the sight of her as well as he knows the back of his own hand. Or as well as he knows the back of his hook, for that matter. "That's my _ship_."

Emma's head swivels to face him, a surprised expression on her face. "What?"

"That's the Jolly bloody Roger, Swan!"

"Is that supposed to mean something?" Ariel asks curiously behind them. "Oh, it's a pirate ship! Though I don't know why you'd name it something with 'blood' in it, that seems kind of gross. I know that pirates are supposed to act 'tough' or whatever, but come on-"

"Blackbeard has my ship!" Killian lowers his spyglass with a huff, his voice so indignant it becomes a mite high pitched. "How the bloody hell does he have my ship?"

Emma shrugs, her eyes wide. "You're asking me as if I'm supposed to know. I don't even know where you put your ship, Killian, how am I supposed to know how some other pirate stole it?"

"You don't just 'put' a ship anywhere," he mutters under his breath, shaking his head. His fist clenches around the spyglass, anger searing through him. He's not angry at her, but he would very, very much like to sink his hook through Blackbeard's heart at the moment. "It was a rhetorical question!"

"And Blackbeard has Eric on his ship?" Ariel asks.

"My ship," Killian corrects at the same time Emma says, "His ship."

"Okay, then," Ariel mutters, her voice indicating how odd she finds their responses.

"How do you think he found your ship?" Emma asks, frowning as she takes the spyglass from Killian's hand. She squints, seemingly taking in the sight. "That's the Jolly Roger? Yellow paint?"

"Aye," Killian nods, frowning as he crosses his arms. He's careful to turn the hook away from himself so he doesn't knick himself in the process, having had enough experience with it to know better. "That's my ship. She's a marvel. Blackbeard needs to get his filthy hands off of her. He's likely bitter that the Revenge is such an ugly, slow beast in comparison."

"Next you'll be comparing sizes," Emma mutters under her breath, the spyglass still pressed to her eye.

"What?"

"Nothing," she hums innocently. "How do you think he could have stolen it? How did you hide it in the first place?"

"Stole a cloaking spell from Regina on my way out," Killian sighs. "Used it on her, tucked her away on a quiet shore. Blackbeard could have gotten a locator spell once he heard I've left the Jolly, he's stolen enough from my ship, but those are exceptionally rare. Then again, he's always surrounded himself with the most unsavory characters."

"And pirates, in general, aren't unsavory characters?" Emma contests, lowering the spyglass and tapping him in the arm with it.

He takes it with a sigh. "There are degrees of unsavory, love. Some do it for the rebellion and freedom and others do it for the power. He falls into the latter category."

"This is fascinating and all," Ariel pipes up, sounding a little exasperated but not malicious. "But I'm not seeing how this is going to help us find Eric."

"The good news is, if he's on deck, I know the ship's every detail well enough that we should be able to get him out without a fuss," Killian frowns, tucking the spyglass back into his satchel. "The bad news is, of course, I simply cannot permit Blackbeard to just take the Jolly. I'm getting it back."

"And what are you going to do with it once you do?" Emma asks, confused.

"I'll figure something out." Killian grunts, scowling as he stares at the shore. "Rest assured, my ship will soon be back in my loving arms."

"I'm weird for having a tail once, but his relationship with his boat isn't...odd?" Ariel asks, her face scrunching up in confusion.

"You're not weird, Ariel," Emma reassures her. "And...believe me, I don't understand it completely either."

Killian rolls her eyes. "You're taking her side, then, Swan?"

"There aren't sides!" Emma protests.

"The Jolly Roger isn't a boat, either," Killian corrects, perhaps a bit petulantly. "She's a ship."

"Alright," Emma says placatingly, releasing a sharp exhale of breath. "We'll get your ship back. And Eric. We'll get the two great loves of your lives back, you two. Everything will be fine."

Killian pouts, just a little. "A pirate is meant to care about his ship, Swan. Especially when it's in the mercies of someone as neglectful and virulent as Blackbeard. I dread seeing what he's done to it."

"Yeah, well," Ariel replies, walking past him to trudge towards the shore. "I'm personally more worried about what kind of shape Eric is in. Pirates and princes don't mix very well."

"I don't know," Killian admits with a grin, matching his stride with Emma's as they follow her. "Emma and I get on fine, a princess and a pirate."

Emma groans. "We aren't going to if you use that cliche again. Pirate and princess, _really_?"

"That's what you are, is it not?" Killian points out, unconcerned. "Daughter of the true king and queen, Swan. Sounds like a princess to me."

Emma makes a face. Ariel just shakes her head, her long red hair following her movements in front of them.

-/-

"Blackbeard," Killian greets warily, stepping on the deck of _his_ ship without much delay. "I see you've...made yourself at home."

He gestures to the Jolly Roger, which thankfully seems intact despite the despicable and far from cleanly nature of its kidnapper.

"I never thought I'd see the famous Captain Hook abandon his ship," Blackbeard drawls out, swinging his sword around thoughtfully. Emma and Ariel embark just behind him, Emma helping Ariel on board first. "And now you have the nerve to come back for it, hm? Two women at your side, at that."

"Misogyny," Emma mutters, rolling her eyes. "Already a real class act."

Ariel leans over to ask Emma something - presumably what exactly 'misogyny' means - before Killian quickly speaks. "I see you're just as charming as ever, Blackbeard. Give me back my ship and we'll make this bloodless."

"You know me, Hook," Blackbeard says casually, leaning against the mast as if he owns the damn ship. "I don't like to do anything bloodless. You want this ship, fight for it. Or are you too much of a coward? I hear you go around traversing with the Savior, see, and one starts to wonder how much pirate is even left in a man," he leers over at Ariel and Emma, then, who both wear disgusted expressions. "If the Savior is either of them, though, perhaps I can understand why you keep her around as a bedwarmer."

Ariel rolls her eyes. Emma's grip tightens on her sword, her eyes narrowed in annoyance. She's always had limited patience for men like this, Killian has noticed. He, too, has never been fond of the sort.

(That's how he met Milah, after all, a well aimed punch at a sniveling coward who put his hands all over her without permission. He only regrets that he didn't kick him, while he was at it.)

(Rumplestiltskin, too, was hardly a step above this sort of man. Controlling his wife and her choices was a defining trait of his relationship with Milah - from him signing away their next child to murdering her for not loving him.)

"Have it your way, then," Killian says lightly, drawing his sword. "I'll take pleasure in mopping your guts off my deck."

"Wait," Ariel calls out. "Eric. We have to find out where he is. If you kill him, we'll never find out."

Emma leans over to Killian, her mouth hovering near his ear. "She's right. We need to get his location out of him."

"Very well," Killian nods, eyeing Blackbeard. His men are growing anxious on deck, a few crewmembers he vaguely recognizes as his former ones for the brief period of time he was being controlled by Rumplestiltskin. Now they appear to be working under Blackbeard. Right traitors, they are. Piss poor fighters if he's challenging them, too, if he remembers correctly. He and Emma should have no problem at all dispatching them. "Give us the prince and the ship."

Blackbeard raises his eyebrows. "And what do I get in this exchange?"

Killian pretends to contemplate it, for a moment. "Your intestines still inside your body."

"You're outnumbered, Hook. You should know when you're out of your element," Blackbeard scoffs, shaking his head. "Or have you truly gone _soft_?"

"Outnumbered?" Killian parrots, crossing his arms and biting his lip in mock-contemplation. "By who, exactly? See, I've got two women stronger than the rest of these cowards put together at my side. Who do you have, Blackbeard?"

Ariel smirks a little, at that. Emma raises her eyebrows.

"We'll fight for our Captain," one of the men has the nerve to chime in, causing a grin to form on Blackbeard's face.

Killian snorts in disbelief, taking a look at all the men on the ship. "I'm meant to feel challenged by you lot? I know every one of you. I know that Jonathon, over there, has a ridiculous problem with herbal teas and Tom has a scar on his left knee that will only take one bloody poke for him to keel over. And you, the one that decided to let his voice be heard, was that you Timothy? Oh, brave fighter you are, I know for a fact you emptied your stomach the first bloody time I came on the sad plank of wood that is the Queen's Revenge. You want to challenge me as well as," he gestures to Emma, a bit proudly, "the Savior - be my guest."

The men just stare at him, a bit at a loss for what to do. Timothy, Killian notes, sinks a little back into the crowd.

Killian wastes no time in putting his sword to Blackbeard's throat, taking advantage of the momentary distraction of the pitifulness of his men. "So what will it be, mate?"

Blackbeard's mouth hardens into a thin line. "Very well, then. Retrieve the prince from the brig."

"And my ship?"

"You won't get the ship, you weren't even on it when I managed to-"

"And my ship," Killian repeats more harshly, pressing his sword a little harder against Blackbeard's neck.

Blackbeard sighs as much as a blade at his jugular will enable him to. "Fine, Hook. You can have your damn ship."

"But Captain-" a voice protests.

Killian whips his head around to face the man. "You really want to have another go, Timothy? Draw your sword and we'll fight for it, but I can guarantee it won't end well for you."

He could swear he hears Emma snort. Ariel doesn't even muffle her laugh.

-/-

The men leave his ship - taking their belongings with them. Luckily, it doesn't seem as if they've tarnished anything. His Captain's quarters are primarily intact, save for an odor that he's sure he'll have to scrub out. It's why he's so damn vigilant about cleanliness, with Blackbeard as an example of what he could become if he didn't. Aside from being a nasty individual in personality, of course. The rest of the men aren't much better, without a proper captain to whip them - never literally, Killian never fancied having a mutiny or cruelty as a model for leadership - into shape. Killian is happy to see the pitiful excuses for men leave.

And all of them do, except for the prince, a dark-haired young man whose face lights up as soon as he sees the former mermaid on deck. Ariel runs into his arms almost immediately, exclaiming his name and clinging to him so tightly he's nearly worried the man could suffocate. Eric lifts her around in a hug with a muffled laugh, both of them beaming as they spin around.

Emma is grinning at the sight, he notices, her once again jacket encased arms wrapped her midsection, her eyes tender, and her posture leaning forward - as if by being that much closer she can soak up any of their happiness. It's almost a wistful gesture, he thinks, but he could be projecting. Killian finds them hard to look at, after a few moments. The couple - almost dancing around in their glee and laughing and kissing and holding, having all the things they both know full well they can't have. They can't even indulge themselves for the sake of the mission - they have no use for such disguises anymore.

Killian can't press her close to him, can't trace his lips over hers, can't allow his hand to find its fit inside hers. He finds himself wanting it, wanting this, so badly he aches with it. The happy couple turns into a bitter image, a reverse reflection of he and Emma. What he wants, surely, but what he can never have.

It's the mission - his and hers - to defeat Regina and kill Rumplestiltskin.

And suddenly he's the drunken gambler his brother found him as all those years ago before pulling him into the naval academy right alongside him. The man who took and took and took for his pleasure - gold and rum and things that could never fill the chunk of flesh that being abandoned took. He had a mission then, too, a mission to not be a bloody idiot and get his life in check. Killian squandered it then. He could be doing the same now, entertaining the idea of forsaking the mission for his own pleasures.

But there's nothing foolish in the way that he feels for her, surely. She doesn't dull his sense, her touch or her smiles or _her_ , she enhances them. Makes him stronger and makes him more compassionate - more easily ready to help and forgive and understand because she's so easily understood and inspired him. She's strength and she's kindness and she's passion - all of which are a brighter alternative, a more giving alternative, than revenge and hate and the cycles that are sure to follow.

Killian can't promise her a future he can't give, if she even were willing to entertain the thought (he thinks perhaps she would be, if the circumstances were different and she weren't so worried about what Regina's opportunities for manipulation could be), but it's hard not to imagine the possibilities if he could give her that future. If he could find another way, her at his side, to do what needed to be done. A way that didn't end with him losing himself in the process, that ensured he couldn't harm any more people. If she were willing, of course. If she wants that future - as untidy and dangerous and unpredictable it is - just as much as he does.

The prophecy didn't add the bit about the Dark One, but he's always believed in her far more than any prophecy. It wasn't the Savior he was in awe of, though it may have been her he originally planned to ally himself with, it was Emma. It wasn't the stories and the legends and what witches in Oz had in their bloody book and teas and fortunetellers - it was always her. He doesn't doubt for a second that she's going to be able to defeat Regina - box or no box - because he has faith in _her_.

This is when he realizes he loves her, a fact that's lingered in his mind but that he's never allowed to fully stick. Killian has known that if he did, just for a second, that he'd never be able to let her go.

"Some people are just meant to find their way back together," Emma hums, interrupting his train of thought, crossing her arms and swaying a little bit with the wind. She's still gazing at the couple, who are so wrapped up in each other they hardly notice their audience.

He stares at her, with the wind whipping her hair around her face and the sun peeking through to shine on her. She makes quite the sight on the deck of his ship, almost as if she belongs there. He can't blink the thought away, attached to the newfound revelation. "Aye," he agrees, shaking his head fondly. "I suppose you're right. There are some people you can't stay away from."

Emma catches his eyes, quickly picking up on his double meaning. "I guess you're right," she replies softly, surprising him.

It's a pleasant surprise.

She turns her back, then, before he has a chance to respond. He tries the words on his lips - the promises he wishes he could make and _'I love you, I love you, I love you Emma Swan,'_ \- but they dry up before they ever leave his throat.

Emma is focused on the horizon, now, elbows on the sides of his ship and looking where the sun is beginning to set.

He swallows, turning back to face the couple. Killian may be able to settle one aspect of his near future, at least, tonight. His ship is still something he's going to have to take care of.

The Jolly Roger is his home, it will always be his home. But he can't be her captain anymore, for the time being. It's fitting that being back on the ship is what allows him to think, to clear his mind like this. Killian has a feeling he'll remember what it feels like loving Emma Swan, admitting it to himself for the first time, for the rest of his life. The Jolly has been his home for centuries, weathering him through too many storms to count. He lost his brother in the cabins, loved Milah in his quarters, lost her and his hand on the deck, and lost himself when he left her. She's been his constant, his ship, no matter what. It's a mournful feeling, to part ways with her.

But he won't leave Emma, refuses to leave Emma. The Jolly Roger needs someone to take care of it, someone who will revere and cherish it in a way that he won't be able to. He hopes - dearly - that he'll be able to return to it. But it isn't fair to abandon her again to the mercies of the next bastard who gets ahold of her. She needs a new captain, for now.

Perhaps even new _captains_ \- it's been ages since she's had two, not since Milah was alive. It may be time for a change.

"Ariel," he calls, once the two have finished their very public display of affection. She turns her head to face him, alert, and he gestures for her to stand beside him. "You have much experience with the ocean, do you not?"

"Well," she says readily, moving next to him with Eric at her heels. "I _was_ a mermaid."

"Aye," he nods, a reluctant grin on his lips. "And Eric, you have some experience with a ship, do you not?"

He's never said as much, of course, but Killian can tell by the way he stands on the ship. Stance firm, but comfortable, sighing along with the wind in the sails as if they were mirrors of the breath in his lungs. It's fitting that a sailor would be lured in by a mermaid, after all.

(Not that Ariel was as nefarious to lure - he's learned that much by now. Skeptical as he was at first, he's grown to respect the woman quite quickly.)

"I spent a lot of my time sailing, Captain," he responds with a shrug. "Got me in trouble, sometimes, Father used to say I was abandoning my duties as a prince to be on ships."

"Were you?" Killian asks, a bit amused.

"Perhaps."

"How would you like to captain a ship, then?" Killian suggests lightly, eyes flitting between the two of them.

Eric looks contemplative, for a moment, but Killian isn't certain the man realizes what he's hinting at. "I'd say I've always wanted to. Now that I don't exactly have princely duties after Regina took over, well, it's not as if I have any reason not to, now."

"Good," Killian nods, clapping a hand on the man's back. "Then I suppose you and Ariel would not be averse to taking over the Jolly while I'm gone?"

Ariel gapes. "The ship you spent over an hour agonizing about not being in your loving arms?"

Eric straightens. "Are you sure?"

Killian rolls his eyes at both of them. "I'll feel better know it's in good...hands. You have experience with the ship, with sailing, Eric. And you, Ariel, I daresay you know the various temperaments of the sea better than I do."

"You're in love with this ship," Ariel points out, her eyebrows raised. "So much so I was getting concerned. I don't think it's healthy for a man to love a few planks of wood and sails this much-"

"Careful," Killian reprimands quickly. "See how giving I'll be if you continue with that train of thought. If I allow her new captains, they better treat her with respect. Understood?"

"You even call it a _'she'_. I don't think that ships have genders, Hook."

"We understand," Eric says with a muffled laugh, tugging Ariel closer to him and nuzzling his head into the crown of her head. Ariel rolls her eyes exasperatedly, but smiles all the same.

"Thank you, Hook. We'll take good care of her."

"That's all I ask," Killian says, voice conciliatory and his hand and hook up in a pacifying gesture. "Just be careful with her, alright? Make sure Regina and her men don't touch it. I don't want to return to my ship burnt to a crisp."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Ariel salutes with a broad grin. "We'll take good care of the ship that can't have a gender because it's an object."

He sighs. This is as good as he's going to get. "Hush before I change my mind."

She giggles, leaning into Eric who looks as if he's resisting the urge to join her. The two thank him, one more time, before rushing to the lower decks. Likely to continue their previous display of affection. He isn't going to think too long about that one.

Killian stands still for a moment, feeling the cool breeze on his face and the rocking beneath his feet.

"Did I hear that right?" Emma asks, turning around to face Killian as the couple go below deck. Killian isn't going to think about what's going to happen in the lower decks of his ship, thank you, but Emma has always been the best distraction from unfortunate thoughts. "You're giving them your ship?"

"They're...captaining her temporarily," he corrects, walking up to her.

"You gave up your ship," Emma murmurs, a little awed. "You _love_ this ship."

There are some things he loves more, he thinks, but he swallows the words before they can spill out of his mouth. "Aye. I do. But Eric and Ariel are a good lot, they'll treat her far better than me attempting to hide it would."

"You could have just taken over the ship again," Emma suggests knowingly. "Sailed the seven seas, and all that."

"No," he shakes his head, uncharacteristically subdued. He stares off at the sea thoughtfully. "No, I couldn't have."

"Why?" Emma asks, leaning more into his space. He meets her eyes, just inches away from his.

"The task ahead is a bit too important to abandon, love."

"The task of aimlessly wandering around helping people?" Emma says skeptically, raising her eyebrows. "Important enough to abandon your ship?"

"It's not the first time and this, at least, is a tad less precarious."

"Last time your life was at risk."

"And it isn't now?"

Emma huffs. "You know that's not what I mean. What's stopping you from taking the Jolly and sailing the hell out of here? Before you stayed because you wanted a shot at defeating Regina and getting to Rumplestiltskin, or at least to hang around long enough to see her defeated. Now, the mission is kind of aimless. The Dark One isn't going away any time soon. What's stopping you from leaving, especially given how much you love your ship?"

"I don't know how many times I can tell you I'm not leaving you, Emma," he sighs, his eyes fixed on hers. "I don't know how many fools left you in the past to make you so certain that you weren't worth sticking around for, Emma, but let me disabuse you of that notion. I'm staying. I'm staying with you, no matter the circumstances."

Emma's mouth parts, uncertainty still clear in her posture. "It's not that I don't...it's not that I don't trust you. But as much as you love this ship, it's kind of difficult for me to see why you'd be okay with leaving it."

"I'd more easily forgive myself for leaving the Jolly than for leaving you, Swan," Killian replies readily, meaning every word.

"This ship is your home, Killian."

"Homes change, Swan," he tells her, the words spilling from his lips before he can think too much about them. "Right now, my definition of it seems to be more of a strong headed Savior than the sea. I'd give it up in a heartbeat in order to be at your side, Emma."

Emma stands back, shocked at the revelation. He, too, pales at exactly how much he's revealed. She has a way of luring him into saying more than he means to, Emma.

"You gave up your ship for me?" Her voice nearly breaks on the last word, so soft he can hardly hear her.

"Aye," he nods, once, his eyes never leaving hers. He means every word. Even if they scare her off, cause her to build her walls even more, at least she'll know he means it. She'll know she's revered, cared for, treasured. Emma deserves that, at least.

Her eyes seem to be quickly filling with moisture. Killian nearly worries that he's _upset_ her before Emma leans in carefully, so slowly he almost doesn't realize how close she's becoming until her lips are a hairsbreadth away from hers. He leans into kiss her, his hand coming up to thread in her hair and his other arm wrapping snugly around her waist to receive her. It's soft and tender, the kiss, careful and exploring. Her tongue sweeps across his lower lip and he reciprocates, gladly, as the softness gives way to passion.

He could die a happy man, like this.

They eventually part for air, leaning back to look at each other with matching wonder. Suddenly, their plan to keep their distance hardly seems relevant at all.

Emma grins, her forehead pressed against his. Her hand tightens on his collar and they sway standing for a moment. Her expression gives way to hesitance, her voice low and cautious. "I know… I know what I said and what we agreed on."

"Ah, but some people you just can't stay away from," he repeats his earlier words cautiously. His eyes shut as he breathes her in. "Why fight it, Swan? I so much prefer fighting at your side."

"Yeah," Emma agrees with a soft sigh, a smile lighting up her features again when he opens his eyes. "I do, too. We're stronger together."

"I'm glad we agree," he murmurs, his hooked arm tightening around her waist. Killian doesn't think about the future, about the tasks ahead. He doesn't think about Rumplestilstkin. He doesn't think about Regina. Killian has had enough of his life controlled, damn it, and if this is his future he's damn sure going to take it. All he can think about is _this_ , Emma pressed against him and her breaths and her sighs and her soft smiles and her certain bravery and unlimited compassion and all of the other things that make up this woman.

He's a fool, surely. Killian has fallen in love with the Savior, despite his best efforts.

But nothing feels foolish at all when she presses her lips to his once more, their matching grins making it almost difficult to kiss each other properly.


	13. Control

**A/N: Whew! This chapter is a long one, so I hope you guys are okay with that. There are a few references to the episode I caught on the reread and I swear I wrote it a week before I watched it, so that's kind of cool at least?**

 **Oh, and warnings for sexual content in this chapter.**

 **Thank you guys so much for your continuous support and feedback, you guys are the reason I'm writing. All the thank yous in the universe go out to Amber, Steph, and Ella - seriously, y'all, this would suck without you.**

-/-

They don't get to another village before more guards come to attack, this time.

"It's been too long," Killian says, grinning as he ducks another swipe of a sword directed at his head. There are a handful of guards, this time, all looking mean and determined and whatever adjective appropriately describes Regina's henchmen. "Haven't had a good spar in a while, have we, Swan?"

Emma groans, rolling her eyes as she brings her sword up to knock out the guard she's fighting with, spinning around to deal with the other one at her back. "I haven't exactly missed them."

"You are aware," the guard she's fighting with grunts, pressing her sword down further and further with his and showing off his strength. She lets him, she's done this move before. "You are aware that we can hear you talk, correct?"

"We are," Killian retorts, doing a showy little spin that makes his coat fan around him - a sight so dramatic she can see it in her peripheral vision - before he knocks his opponent on his feet. "We just don't care."

That showiness is probably why it's so easy for guards to recognize them, lately. The pirate garb and Emma's red coat aren't exactly subtle. Word gets around with the surviving guards, she presumes.

Still, she's kind of unwilling to part with either part of it - the wardrobe or the talking. If they're determined to keep hidden, they can always adapt.

Maybe they should adapt before they move on to the next thing. Emma frowns.

The guard attempts to take advantage of her momentary distraction, moving his sword back as if he's about to drive it right through her chest, before she sidesteps him.

"Behind you," Killian calls from somewhere over her shoulder, the clatter and clang of swords ringing in the air. "Honestly, Swan, we need to spar back to back more."

Emma groans, fending off the oncoming attacker and slicing the other one's hand. The first guard winces, dropping his sword, and she ducks the slide of the other guard's sword enough to grab for it. She uses the two swords to dispatch the two quickly, feeling a familiar warmth at her back as she does so.

Emma pants, swords still in hand, and glances around the clearing for any evidence of more of them. Killian laughs, a breathless chuckle, behind her.

She leans against his back, sagging just a little. "It's been a while since we've done that," she comments idly.

"Aye," he nods his assent, the sound of his sword sheathing ringing in her ears. "It has been. But I suppose we were due, eh?"

His back leaves hers after a moment and she nearly stumbles back at the loss before she feels his hands wrap around her, flesh and glove covered wood joining at her midsection. Emma sighs, dropping one sword and sheathing the other, leaning back into his touch. "I guess we were. You okay?"

Killian nods, his nose rubbing up and down her collarbone with the motion as he presses a quick kiss to her shoulder. Her hand comes up to tangle in his hair, a contented hum leaving her lips.

"You alright, Swan?" he asks, his eyes bright as she turns her head to face him.

"Yup," she nods, looking at the guards splayed upon the ground with a grimace. "We should get going, there could be more on the way."

"Right," he nods in assent, pulling back from her to stand beside her. His hand finds hers and his fingers twine in hers. "Let's be on our way, then."

They only make it a few feet before she notices something. Emma nearly stumbles on a branch, her other hand coming to grip his forearm to steady herself, and Killian noticeably winces.

Emma's brow pulls together in worry. "What's wrong?"

Killian masks his pained expression quickly, painting a feeble smile on his lips. "Nothing, Emma, don't worry yourself over it."

Emma looks down at where her hand just was, a tear in the fabric of his sleeve noticeable. She releases his hand to pull his sleeve up above his prosthetic hand, revealing a cut on his arm that looks like it's bleeding. It seems one of the guards managed to slice him.

"You're hurt," Emma points out, frowning at the cut.

Killian shakes his head, waving her off with a tug of his sleeve back over his arms. "It's nothing, sweetheart. I've gotten worse wounds from forgetting to take my hook off when I fell asleep," he lifts his prosthetic hand as if to demonstrate, though his hook is still tucked away in his satchel.

Emma's frown only deepens, at that. Killian could have a mortal wound and be dismissive, she's sure. She carefully trails her hand up from his to his elbow, pulling his dark cotton sleeve up along the way. The cut is small, sure, but it will definitely bleed through his shirt.

"Swan, it's-"

She rolls her eyes, looking up at him and breaking her concentration on his arm. "Killian, you're hurt. Let me take care of you. I may not have healing powers like Ingrid," she sighs, pulling the bag draped over her shoulder closer to her and digging into her pack, "but I can at least make sure you don't bleed all over yourself."

He raises an eyebrow. "And how do you envision doing that?"

Emma holds up a few pieces of cloth and snatches the flask of rum from his coat pocket, right where she knows he keeps it. "This," she hums, spilling the rum on his cut as he winces and wrapping the cloth carefully around it, "is how I envision doing that."

She wraps the cloth around enough times so that the red of his blood doesn't poke through it, tying it with a cautious sort of reverence. Emma wraps her hand around his forearm, just to make sure the bandage will stay in place.

"A healer's daughter," Killian says, bemused, but his voice is faint and his eyes are soft when hers flit up to meet his.

Her lips quirk upwards. "Ingrid wouldn't let me leave without at least packing something for wounds. I may have forgotten blankets, but I didn't forget this."

Killian kisses her, then, his lips gently slanting over hers and his hand wrapping around her waist. Emma grins against his lips, her arms falling from the bandage and snaking around his back.

"I feel much better," he hums, his forehead pressed against hers. "It's as if the sting is gone completely, the cut feels as if it's vanished."

Emma laughs, shaking her head just a little - his head follows along with her movements, still propped on hers - and sighing. "If only I had that power. You won't bleed everywhere, anyway. That has to count for something."

"Ah," he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "It counts for quite a bit."

Emma has to admit, it's easy. It's easier being with him, allowing this with him - the comfort and the affection and the caring - and working together on this quest all at once. They're stronger together. Robin was right, all those days ago, when he talked about that.

She still seizes up at the idea of letting him in too much, of letting him see too much, but she can at least allow herself this. He's not Walsh and he's not Baelfire and all of the other lovers that have disappointed her. She still wears the chain Baelfire gave her around her neck, a reminder of everything that could have been and wasn't, a reminder not to let anyone in like she did him.

But she doesn't have to, now. Emma can take this for what it is - just easy affection with her partner, with someone who has had her back in a way that no one else has. Killian could have left before the first week was over and they spent more time arguing than anything else, when Rapunzel offered him a way out, but he didn't. He had an opportunity to leave her in a dungeon, but he didn't. Killian had a chance to go home, to go back to his ship and leave her alone in this, but he didn't.

He's chosen her again and again, she figures she can choose him in turn.

Emma just hums contentedly, arms pulling him closer still and pushing her forehead against his lips. "I'm glad."

-/-

They don't make it another few hours before they find another group of guards. This time, a woman is attempting to fight them off with nothing but a sword and sheer willpower. It's not fair odds at all, four against one.

Now it's four against three, at least. They draw their swords.

"Oi," Killian calls, once he and Emma are paces from the fighting. "Hardly good form, is it? Four of you and one of her?"

A couple of them gape, one continues sparring with the woman, and the fourth comes charging at the two of them only to be met with Emma's sword.

Emma grimaces. "Make that three against three, now."

The woman, surprised by the interruption, sends them a grateful look as the guard continues to spar with her. She meets every attack of his sword, her odds suddenly becoming much better with one down and two distracted. The two guards who gaped set themselves on attacking Killian and Emma, next, abandoning the prospect of fighting with the woman.

They take care of them in minutes. The woman, too, makes easy work of her combatant.

She does have to catch her breath, for a little bit, afterwards. She slumps down to sit on her haunches, taking deep, greedy gulps of air. Emma and Killian amble up to her cautiously, stilling before her.

Emma offers her a hand, after a moment, and the woman takes it gratefully.

"Thank you," she tells the both of them, once she's standing again. "Thank you so much. I don't know where the hell you came from, but I'm glad you did."

"Why were they coming after you?" Emma asks, curiously.

The woman grimaces, shaking her head. "We have an encampment for the queen's...dissenters, a few paces west. We station people for shifts to keep the guards out. It was my turn, this time. Usually we only get one or two searching the forest, but lately they've been patrolling more and more."

"Sorry about that," Emma says, frowning.

She looks confused, at that. "Why?"

"What's your name?" Killian asks, instead of answering her question, as he sheaths his sword back in his belt.

"Ursula," the woman answers. "Yours?"

"I'm Emma. This," she gestures to Killian, "is Killian."

Ursula's expression turns sour.

"The Savior," Ursula repeats, voice sounding hard. Her eyes fall on Killian, her eyes looking anything but reverent. "I guess that makes you Captain Hook, huh?"

"Aye," Killian sighs, nodding a bit reluctantly.

Ursula punches him clear across the face, fist swinging before Emma has a chance to react. Emma's eyes go wide, catching Killian and propping him up before he can fall, and looks, wide-eyed, at the woman. "What the _hell_?"

"You killed my father," she says venomously, looking at Killian with pure disdain. "I remember."

Killian groans, his hand pressing against the bruise that's sure to form on his jaw as he stands back upright. "What the bloody hell are you talking about, lass?"

Emma finds herself hoping that she's speaking about one of Regina's supposed targets that Killian hid, that the man is alive somewhere but in enough of hiding that people assume him dead. It wouldn't be the first person they've encountered who fit that description - Abigail, for one - so Emma hopes and hopes and hopes that this is the case here, too. No one deserves to lose their father, like that.

"It was years ago," she scowls, seething. "My father's name is Poseidon. You killed him."

Killian visibly pales. "Rumplestiltskin…"

Emma cringes, unable to help herself. "You mean, when you were being controlled-"

"Aye," he nods, eyes clenching shut.

Ursula stares at the two of them, understandably dissatisfied with the bizarre exchange. "You killed him. I came home to find him dead on the floor and heard it was Captain Hook to blame."

"It's a bit more complicated than that, love," Killian raises his hands a bit defensively. "I'm sorry about what happened to your father. It...it haunts me, lass, you have to understand that. But the Dark One, he was controlling me."

Ursula isn't content at all with that answer. "So, what, it's his fault you left his body on the kitchen floor for me to find? That's the Dark One's fault?"

Emma is quickly, quickly not liking where this conversation is going. "We should...we should talk. You deserve answers and we have them, I swear, you just have to listen to us."

"Nothing can answer for what happened to my father," Ursula says shortly. "No amount of excuses in the world can."

"Don't you want to know what happened to him? Doesn't that keep you up at night?" Emma attempts, meeting the woman's eyes impassionedly. "Please, let us give you those answers. It must haunt you, the not-knowing, the wondering, the imagining and it's only going to hurt you more if you never find out the truth."

"I'll be pretty damn satisfied with myself if I have his head on a stake," Ursula grits through her teeth. "Let that be the balm to my nightmares, the fact that I've got justice for my father."

"Is it justice if you don't even know the truth, lass?" Killian asks carefully, his voice grave and level. "Let me tell you what happened. If you still want my head after, then so be it, but at least allow me a chance to explain myself."

"Would you?" Ursula asks, raising her eyebrows as her eyes dart between the two of them. "Would you let someone explain themselves if they killed _her_?"

Her eyes linger on Emma and it's clear who she's talking about.

Emma swallows, unsure of what to do with that question. Killian, too, freezes.

The thought of her being the comparison to someone he cares about, someone he'd want blood for if something happened, forms knots in her stomach. She may have agreed to give this a shot, but this is a little too much for her to handle right now. Emma keeps her face blank and impassive, determined to at least make it through this exchange. Ursula deserves answers, deserves to know what happened - what Rumplestiltskin did - to her father. She can't exactly blame her for this reaction.

(The inverse question - what would she do if it were Killian - lingers in her mind for a brief moment.)

"As I said," Killian says, sounding a bit strangled. "Please let me explain to you what happened. If I'm dead, it won't bring you any explanation, any resolution, any closure. I'll just be dead. And in the meantime - the people truly to blame for his death are still out there, ruining the lives of more families like yours."

Ursula grimaces and Emma knows she has to be considering this.

"Fine," she barks out, turning her back to them and trudging forward. "Follow me, then."

Emma and Killian exchange dubious looks, knowing she could be leading them to their death. It wouldn't be unheard of for someone desperate for revenge.

"I'm not going to kill you," she calls over her shoulder, voice still clipped. "Not without you telling me what the hell happened."

-/-

They wind up at what looks to be an encampment, tents and fires scattered throughout the clearing. Ursula ignores the questioning looks they get from the people they pass, all looking curious at the new arrivals, just leads them to a tent that Emma presumes is hers.

"Sit," Ursula instructs, pointing to the ground, voice harsh.

They both do, cross legged and staring up at her for further instruction. Emma keeps her eyes on the exit, should worse come to worst she's mostly confident that their reflexes would be fast enough to get far enough.

Plus, she sees something in the woman that says she wouldn't be capable of killing, even in revenge. As angry and livid as she clearly is, she wants some kind of closure that only they - it's odd to include herself in this, but they're a _team_ now, they've been a team - can give her. Killian must feel the same way, if he's willingly putting himself in this position.

Or perhaps he loathes himself for what happened, what the Dark One made him do, enough to risk his own neck. Emma frowns at the thought, tugging his hand into her own and running her thumb over his knuckles.

"You don't have to be here for this," Killian manages, slipping his hand from hers.

It might be the second option, after all. Emma's frown deepens, recognizing the protective gesture. She reaches for his hand, again, clasping it in hers. "Yeah, I do," she looks up at Ursula. "You should sit down, too. I don't think hearing this...I don't think it's something you want to hear standing up."

Ursula's eyes narrow at the suggestion. "I can handle it."

"I'm not saying you can't," Emma says slowly. "I just know this isn't pretty."

Ursula stays standing, ignoring her. "I'd start talking if I were you, Hook. You promised answers. I expect them. Full story, starting now."

Killian inhales sharply, preparing himself. Emma squeezes his hand, a gesture of comfort. "Ah, you know what happens when your heart is taken, aye?"

"The person holding it can control you," Ursula says, shortly.

Killian exhales. "You're their puppet. They say the word, you do it. There's no choice. There's only what they tell you to do, no matter how much your mind protests, your body will carry out their commands."

"And the Dark One," Ursula's lips purse as she peruses him, eyes narrowed into slits. "He used you as a puppet, then?"

"Rumplestiltskin and I have a history," he explains slowly. "Not a pleasant one. When he saw the opportunity, he took it. Quite literally, as it turns out. I was his assassin for months. It felt like…" he hangs his head, face twisting. "Centuries. It felt like centuries."

Ursula sits down, at that. "So he made you kill my father?"

"Aye," Killian answers, his voice sounding a bit strangled. "Him among others."

There's a tugging at the entrance of the tent and they're interrupted before Killian can get out another word. There's an older man who storms in and the height of the tent is barely enough to meet the stature of the two men who flank him. His bodyguards, it almost looks like.

"We were talking," Ursula grits out, looking up at the interrupters. The older man just rolls his eyes at her.

"We'll see how much talking your mouth will do when we're dead, Ursula," he grunts, crossing his arms. "Guards are planning an attack, here, a lot of them I'm told."

"Wait," Emma stands up, Killian following her movement and hand still in hers. "Wait, wait, wait - guards are attacking this camp?"

"Who are you?" the man asks abruptly, eyes narrowing on her and Killian.

"Emma," she answers shortly. Emma sighs, correcting herself. "The Savior."

Ursula looks up at the ceiling of the tent, as if asking the gods what she's done to earn their misfortune.

"You had the Savior here and you didn't tell us first thing?" the man looks accusingly towards Ursula.

She grunts. "I had business to settle with them. I still do."

"None that supersede protecting this camp," he replies shortly. His eyes go back to Emma and Killian, then. "So, the Savior and Captain Hook?"

"I'm King George," he introduces himself, leaning in to shake Emma's hand. She accepts it, reluctantly, his hand clammy and sweaty in hers. He ignores Killian entirely, which she resists the temptation to roll her eyes at.

Go figure, kings don't like pirates.

The name King George rings a bell, though, one familiar enough from stories and legends that she swears -

"My son might be familiar to you, his name is David. I do believe I'm your grandfather, Savior," George states, a tight lipped smile on his face. It sends chills down her spine, the gesture completely lacking any warmth.

"Right," Emma says abruptly, her eyes flitting away from his uncomfortably. David hadn't gotten along with his father, she's remembering, he tried to split him and Snow apart over and over again. If this man had his way, she wouldn't even be born. "Okay, then. You said there are a bunch of guards planning to attack here?"

George opens his mouth to reply, but one of the men flanking him cuts him off before he has a chance to. "Yes, I'd say we have a few days at most. They want to make sure they have as many people as possible to take on the camp, we've fended them off before. I suppose they want to make sure they're prepared, this time."

Emma sighs. "Great. You guys should get moving now, then, before they get here. Killian and I can try to distract them and divert them somewhere else, buy you more time."

"Get moving?" Ursula asks, dubiously. "We're not 'moving' anywhere - these people have already been forced to give up enough. They don't get this, too."

Emma frowns, biting her lip. "If they come after you...that might be your best shot at surviving."

"Aye," Killian agrees with a sharp nod. "There's no shame in leaving if it's your best chance, perhaps we can help you cover your tracks enough to-"

"No," Ursula repeats, voice firm. "None of us are going anywhere. And _you_ , of all people, shouldn't lecture me on how to keep people safe."

Killian's mouth sets in a hard line, at that. "I'm sorry about your father, lass, but you needn't kill yourself to prove a point."

George coughs, clearing his throat. "Ursula, you should sneak into the section of the village the guards occupy, see what they're planning."

"Seriously?" she asks, eyes darting to the men flanking him. "And Tweedledum and Tweedledee here, can't?"

Emma's brow furrows. She didn't realize they'd come over from Wonderland, she's heard enough stories about them that it's weird to recognize them in front of her.

"They're needed here," George replies, sharply. The _'you aren't'_ is left unspoken, but it leaves a distinctly sour taste in Emma's mouth. George's protection - evidently - is of utmost importance to him.

Things haven't changed much from the tales she'd been told as a child, it seems.

"I'll go with you," Killian offers.

Emma frowns, both at the idea of him leaving and putting himself at risk and at the prospect of how Ursula would feel about this traveling companion in particular. "I can go. You can stay with George and figure out how to secure the camp."

"No," Killian shakes his head, looking determined. "I'll go with Ursula, see when exactly the guards are planning to attack. You need to stay here, make sure…" his eyes dart to George and his voice lowers so that only she can hear him. "... Your grandfather doesn't do anything foolish."

Ursula narrows her eyes, crossing her arms. "Who says I need either of you for this?"

"It's safer to have backup," Killian points out.

"This backup in particular?" Ursula asks doubtfully. "I don't think so."

"Take the pirate," George grunts, his tone leaving no room for argument. He may have no kingdom to rule anymore, but it hardly prevents him from bossing people around. "If you don't report back in a few days, we'll assume you're dead. Savior, follow me and we'll discuss where to go from here. If you're at the camp, perhaps you can help us, give us a bit of your guidance."

The dismissiveness of his choice of words - from the disregard of Ursula's life to the 'pirate' and 'Savior' labels - make her more than a little uncomfortable. The guidance he's seeking seems more like a _Savior Seal of Approval_ than actual advice. Still, there seem to be dozens of people at this camp. Children included, from what she saw. She has to at least try to help protect these people. Emma is the Savior, after all, and she resolved to help people. If she doesn't have a plan to defeat Regina, she can at least do this.

"Fine," Ursula says, bitingly, looking over to Killian. "If you want to tag along, I guess I can't stop you."

"Excellent," Killian replies. "We'll leave within the hour, then?"

"An hour?" George asks skeptically. "I'll give you fifteen minutes."

"I wasn't aware I was taking commands," Killian retorts dryly. "I think we'd both do well to have an hour to prepare, your _majesty_. I don't believe you have a kingdom to rule anymore."

That pisses George off, his face turning red and his fists clenching. He looks to Emma, then, as if his suddenly re-discovered granddaughter will be in a rush to defend him. Emma just raises her eyebrows at him. Ursula, too, stays stonefaced.

"Fine," George grits out. "An hour. "

He leaves the tent in a huff, Tweedledum and Tweedledee at his heels. Emma watches him leave, an expression of distaste on her face.

"He's a character," she comments, idly.

"He's your family, not mine," Ursula mutters, drawing her satchel back over her head. "I just put up with him for the same reason everyone else does - he may be an asshole, but he helps us survive."

"Why don't you just hide?" Emma asks curiously. "You could blend in, it's not as if Regina's guards are the brightest bunch."

"I'd still be under her rule, wouldn't I?" Ursula points out. "If there's anyone who should understand not wanting to be under control, it's your boyfriend. Who still owes me the full story."

"Aye," Killian nods in assent. "I do."

"It'll only take a few hours to get there, so I'm going to see what the hell Tweedledum and Tweedledee know," Ursula grunts, lifting up the flap of the tent. "Don't do anything stupid."

Ursula leaves, at that.

"That quickly turned into something I wasn't expecting it to," Killian observes quietly, tugging her into his arms.

"Yeah," Emma agrees, face pinches. "It did. I wasn't expecting...long lost family members, or whatever."

"Luckily, his genes seemed to have skipped you - the unpleasant personality and the looks."

Emma grins, at that. "What, you don't think I'm unpleasant?"

He rolls his eyes and her smile widens. He sighs, bringing his hand to her cheek. "The most unpleasant, really, with all that compassion and wit and the _looks_ on this terrible face of yours - from the dreadful shade of green in your eyes to that awful button nose to the insidious curve of your lips."

Sarcasm is blatant in his voice and becomes even more obvious when he presses a kiss to each feature he pretends to insult - from her eyelids to her nose to her lips. He lingers at her lips, pulling her tighter against him and deepening the kiss.

"You're pretty terrible yourself," she grins against him.

His lips twitch. "Am I?"

Emma thinks of his captain's log, again, about some of the things he had written in it. There's one sentence she vividly recalls, an earlier entry about being the _'worst human around'_. The reminder of what he was forced to do as Rumplestiltskin's puppet and Ursula's hatred for the man that - wittingly or not - killed her father can't be helping matters.

"No," she says, shaking her head. She kisses him once more, just a soft and gentle press of her lips against his. "You're one of the best humans around."

His breath seems to leave him, at that, and his arm tightens around her. Killian seems to be at loss for words, for once.

"Be safe," she instructs, her hands clinging to his lapel as her forehead presses against his.

"Always," he murmurs fondly, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "I've quite the lass to come back to, after all."

She snorts, at that. "You do, huh?"

"Aye," he says, pressing one more light kiss to her lips. "I do."

They stay like that for a moment, heads bowed together and arms keeping each other close, unwilling to part just yet. Not even a day after deciding their best route is together, being forced to split up isn't the best feeling in the world. She exhales, the sound long and shaky, and he just presses his prosthetic to her back more firmly.

"I'll come back," he reassures her gently, his eyes pinned to hers. "I promise."

"Good."

"Just don't kill your grandfather while I'm out, eh?"

Emma laughs, at that. "I'll try not to."

"Because if you do, I'd like to be there to see it."

Emma laughs harder, at that. She tugs on one of his ears affectionately, careful not to pull to hard at the hole in the lobe. It might close up soon if he doesn't put the earring back in and a part of her is sad at the thought. It's part of him, the outfit is, earring included. "Pirate," she teases, voice affectionate.

"Of course," he concedes, voice light. "Your pirate, Swan."

The sentence fills her with a rush of heady affection. It's complicated, this already is, but she can allow herself this. These moments of easiness, at least.

"Yeah," she agrees, closing her eyes and breathing him in. "My pirate."

-/-

Killian and Ursula start their trek no sooner than an hour later. It's begun raining, freezing rain, and the weather is nothing short of dreadful. Thunder sounds above them and he swears he sees a lightning strike, but the rain is hard and unforgiving on his head and back. Hail, he's sure, will be soon to follow. He just hopes the camp is prepared for a storm, at least.

But a storm has never stopped any sailor worth his salt.

They don't make it ten paces away from the camp before she's pressing him for information, as promised.

"So, he told you to kill you my father and you did?" she asks, voice flat as she drags her feet through the mud.

Killian sighs. "He commanded it. So I did."

"How many other people did he command you to kill?"

"I don't know," he lies through his teeth.

Ursula catches him in it. "How could you not know?"

He swallows. "Twenty-six."

"Twenty-six people?" Ursula repeats, her eyebrows raising. "You killed twenty-six people?"

"Aye," he says solemnly.

It's a fitting number, really. After all, it was how old he was when he met Milah. He can't help but wonder if that was intentional. Rumplestiltskin is twisted enough to plot it out that way, but Killian assumes he would have kept Killian killing for much longer had he not managed to seek out Regina's assistance.

Perhaps assistance wasn't the best word - if he hadn't traded favors with her.

"Do you remember their names?" she asks.

"Every single one," he mutters, voice clipped. "Even had them alphabetized, at some point. Aidan, Beatrice, Bartholomew-"

"I don't need to hear them."

"Aye. I understand."

"Did he…" she trails off, as if warring with herself on whether or not to ask the question. "Did he say why?"

"With your father?"

She nods.

Killian sighs, his steps becoming a little heavier. "I...All I knew was that these people people who had gone back on deals with him. He thought it prudent...he took their lives if they couldn't hold up their end of the bargain."

"And my father, what deal did he make?"

Killian shrugs, helplessly. "I was just the messenger, lass. I didn't know details. All I knew was that I rose from my ship when he gave the command and went where he told me to go. I put my hook where he told me to put it."

Ursula considers this, her face pinching. "Was it...all the time? Did he control you all of the time?"

"No," Killian answers shortly, the memory still raw. "He...he didn't. It was just those select commands. The rest of the time, I was myself for the most part. I tried...I tried preventing it. I tried sailing away, first, thinking perhaps it would have a limit in its reach and that I'd rather be dead if he decided to crush my heart, anyway. That didn't work. I was steering back to the shore in no time. I tried having my crew tie me inside my cabin, tried having them barricade me in, but he undid the bonds with his magic or cleared all the furniture in no time. Past a point, the crew grew tired of my...erratic behavior."

"On your ship," Ursula deduces.

"On my ship," he repeats, shivering slightly from the rain. The chill and ceaselessness of it is a welcome distraction from his thoughts. "And then I…I tried jumping off of it, at some point. Of course, Rumplestiltskin prevented that from having an effect, too," his chuckle is dark and venomous, his skin crawling with the memory.

He was so desperate to be finished, desperate to be free he'd rather do whatever it took to get away than bother with survival. There's nothing quite so chilling as begging every bone in your body to listen to you only to have it overridden by a man who killed your love and crippled you. What he did to him was worse than death, worse than any other means of torture.

Killian exhales, the sound sharp and the visual evidence of his breath lingering in the cool air in front of him.

"How did you get out?" Ursula asks curiously. "How are you still not working for him, if nothing else worked?"

"The one and only thing I will ever thank the Evil Queen for," Killian grimaces. "She gave me back my heart in return for a favor."

"And that's how you became the queen's assassin," Ursula finishes, a look of realization crossing her face.

"Pretended to be, anyway," he sighs. "I wasn't about to be her puppet after being his."

Ursula considers this for a few moments, stepping alongside him towards the village.

"I still don't trust you," Ursula tells him. "You should know that."

Killian can't bring himself to blame her. "I understand," he sighs, rocking back on his heels.

They walk the rest of the way in near-silence.

-/-

Killian and Ursula manage to find a spot to eavesdrop once they get to the patch of the village the guards tend to sulk around the most, ducking behind some crates and listening with keen ears. There seems to be an argument of sorts going on, and if they want to figure out their next move they're going to have to listen to every second.

"They've been on our last nerve for weeks, now we finally have a shot at taking care of the problem once and for all."

"The camp run by George? Send a few more men than necessary and the place will be wiped out, it's not as if we don't have the numbers these days."

"Regina has been sending more and more guards our way, says she suspects that the Savior and Captain Hook are cavorting somewhere near here."

It sounds like two voices, maybe three. Perhaps there's a few silent participants, but as they continue their conversation it becomes clear there aren't many guards speaking amongst themselves. Still, they seem to be speaking on matters of substance. Meaning, speaking on things he can use to his advantage.

Things like the guards are planning to attack three days from now, at sundown.

They wait until the guards are scattered away, save for one set of footsteps. It seems one of them is pacing, back and forth, his boots hitting the sand with a heavy rhythm. It's not the sound of someone merely patrolling and guarding - it's the sound of someone conflicted.

Killian and Ursula, carefully, poke their heads up just enough to see. They spot a guardsman looking anxious, still pacing in front of his post, his hands folded around each other and pressed to his lips. He seems to be warring with himself, clearly agitated at the prospect of leading an attack like this.

And, to be fair, if there's anything Killian understands it's going against an immoral monarch.

Killian stands up and clears his throat. "Oi," he calls, catching the man's attention. "I've a bone to pick with you."

"What?" the guard asks, sharply. "Were you hiding there? Eavesdropping on matters of security is a crime against the queen, I'll have you know."

"You look torn, mate," Killian supplies, ambling up to him with his hand on his belt and his expression blase. Ursula stays behind the crate, determined to not give up that small security. He can't blame her, but he sees something familiar in this boy. "I don't suppose it would have to do with your friends' plans to attack that camp now would it?"

The man's eyes narrow. It strikes Killian how young he is, really, not any older than he was when he joined the navy. Killian - though he served under a king he later found out was corrupt and sent his sailors out to collect poisons to completely wipe out his enemies - had full faith in the pursuit when he first started out. Being a part of the navy was something bigger, something larger, a goal to hope for with his brother at his side.

Killian looks at this man - this boy, really - and sees someone not much different than himself.

"Mate," Killian groans, bringing his hand up to stop the man from taking another step. "You don't want to do this."

"I don't?" the guard challenges, raising an eyebrow and trying to look more brave than he must feel. "Watch me."

He moves to take another step, but Killian doesn't budge. "Regina wants this."

"And I want what Regina wants," the guard replies, nonplussed.

"Do you really?" Killian asks doubtfully. "You want to kill those people?"

"Does it matter?"

"It should."

"I'm doing what I'm meant to," the guard sighs, frowning. "I can't...I shouldn't be discussing this with random people off the street. I don't need a lecture on what's noble from a man wearing kohl on his eyelids."

He ignores the insult. "Oh, so you bring up nobility, hm?"

"Go away."

"It's a great deal more noble to stand up when the odds are stacked against you," Killian tells him, eyes pinned to his. "You'd do well to remember that."

The young guard looks conflicted, at that.

"You're Captain Hook, aren't you?" he asks, his lips pursed. "You used to work for Regina, too."

"Aye," Killian says flatly. "I did."

"And you're not anymore," he says, stating the obvious.

"No," Killian sighs. "I'm not. And you don't have to, either."

The guard's expression turns contemplative.

Killian turns his back to leave, baffling Ursula who catches up to follow him. The guard hardly pays her a passing glance once she's out from behind the crates, too agitated with himself to bother.

"What the hell?" Ursula hisses under her breath. "You almost had him."

"We planted the seed of doubt," Killian sighs. "Which is all we needed to do. We build dissent, we make time."

"Smart," Ursula compliments reluctantly, once they're out of earshot of the guard. "What made you think that would work?"

"He didn't seem the bloodthirsty type, seemed as if he was itching for a way out. I provided him one, or at least an opportunity to see one."

"I don't typically think of the guards as beacons of humanity and goodheartedness," Ursula comments flatly.

"They're deluded, surely, manipulated at the least," Killian sighs. "But there's still good in some of them. Regina offers some protection for them, gets food in their families' bellies and prevents them from being her next target."

"They chose this life," Ursula points out. "They chose to join her guard. They could have decided not to."

"As I said, she provides protection for their families to some degree. No need to worry about guards coming after you and your loved ones if you are one, after all. You don't need to take someone's heart to control them," Killian points out, his eyes hardening. "I know that more than anyone. Sometimes, all you need to do is threaten someone they love. It nearly has the same effect."

"You would know," Ursula says, flatly. "Why did Rumplestiltskin have to take yours, then?"

"I didn't have anyone I loved," Killian states simply. "I had nothing left to lose."

"And now?" Ursula asks dubiously, raising her eyebrows.

Killian swallows, his expression torn and his back flattening against the wall he's propped against. "Now I do."

"So why are you two together, then, you and the Savior?"

"Sometimes, you have to decide if some things are worth the risk," Killian tells her, his voice unwavering. "She is."

Ursula seems to accept that answer, at least.

-/-

"You want to blow up their homes?" Emma asks, her voice rising in pitch. "Have you lost your mind?"

The rain has slowed to a light drizzle and George had insisted on taking her and a few of his men closer to the village to get a better look of the situation. George had a plan, he'd insisted, he just needed to get his affairs in order. The Savior's help, he'd reasoned, could get them a long way.

She pictured safety parameters and traps - not a suggestion to all out annihilate the homes of Regina's guards. In this village, apparently, their cottages are all grouped together. It's a step above the quarters they were given in the dungeons when she was posing as a guard, but it's a macabre thought to think of blowing the bricks and tar to smithereens with smuggled canons.

George crosses his arms, looking unperturbed by her disgust. "It's either that or have them attack us, Savior. If you expect to protect your people, you'll need a thicker skin."

Emma looks at him as if he's grown a second head. "First of all, that's the biggest false equivalency I think I've ever heard in my entire life. Second of all, there's nothing tough or thick skinned about targeting innocent people to make yourself feel more secure."

"That's what you think, isn't it?"

"That's what I know," Emma emphasizes, eyes narrowed. "You're a real asshole, you know that?"

"We aren't much different," George claims, a chilling smile on his face. "You and I."

Emma's face is stoic as she crosses her arms. "Yeah, we are. I'd never hurt innocent people like that."

"Don't tell me you haven't killed guards before," George states impassively, lifting the spyglass in his hands up to get a better look at what he'd like to be his target. "This isn't much different, now, is it? It's us or them."

Emma narrows her eyes, snatching the spyglass out of his hands. "It is that much different. I only kill when I have to survive. You're doing it just to do it."

"You're delusional if you think that any of these people wouldn't have your head in a heartbeat if it meant they would have the opportunity to present it to their queen," George sneers. "Don't kid yourself, _Savior_."

"And I suppose their children would, too?" Emma asks accusingly. "Their families live in those homes. They have wives and husbands and kids and mothers and fathers and," her eyes narrow, "grandfathers."

"They'd kill ours in a heartbeat. They're trying to kill my child, if you would remember. They knew the risks when they decided to become the queen's killers, it's not our fault."

"There is no 'our'," Emma retorts. "There's you and there's me - two completely separate things. You advocate for killing innocent people. I don't."

"Delude yourself all you want, Savior," George mutters, eyeing her with disdain. "But you know as well as I do that you and I aren't that different. It's only matter of time before you see things my way."

"I'd rather not have eyes," Emma says, storming off to the rest of the camp.

She can see why her father never got along with the man. He's a sociopath, pure and simple.

-/-

When Killian and Ursula get back to the camp, Emma wastes no time at all in informing him on the latest happenings.

"George," she spits out, moving to stand beside him, "is fucking _insane_."

Killian raises his eyebrows at the greeting. "Hello to you too, love."

"He wants to launch canons into the homes of the guards," Emma replies. "That's his master plan to save the camp."

"And he reasons that the ends justifies the means?" Killian surmises. "Kill the guards, eliminate the threat?"

"You know as well as I do that it isn't that simple," Emma points out bluntly, meeting Killian's eyes. He, of all people, should understand that. Sometimes you just aren't in control and, either way, their families shouldn't pay for the sins of one of their members. "We need to stop him. I won't have their blood on my hands."

Killian nods, his hand tangling in hers as he steps beside her. "Aye. The former king isn't going to help anyone by attacking the guards that way. How do you envision going about stopping them, Swan?"

Emma grimaces, frowning and staring at their hands. She squeezes his, once, trying to focus. Her other hand comes to grab his wooden one, She ducks her head and presses her forehead against his chin, attempting to collect her thoughts. "I don't know."

He sighs, stepping forward and tugging her closer until her chin rests on top of his shoulder. Emma leans into his touch as his hand cradles her head.

"We'll figure it out, Swan," he reassures her. "We always do."

Emma exhales. "Find anything out?" her eyes flicker to Ursula, who is heading back to her tent. "Did you guys get a chance to talk?"

Killian nods. "Aye, we did. Two days from now, at sundown, they're planning to attack. Ursula and I...well, I could hardly expect her to forgive me. But, we came to an understanding of sorts."

"That's good," Emma hums. "I'm glad to hear that. We need to stop George, though, I think his men are already rolling the damn canons where he wants them."

"Fantastic," Killian deadpans, pulling back from her embrace. "Lead the way, Swan."

-/-

By the time they get to where George is, it looks as if he's already set everything up. Emma groans, looking from the loaded canons to the dozen or so people looking ready to fire them. He's got his own personal army ready for him, as if he's a king all over again and this is his domain. A front against an enemy, a grand battle fit for his glory.

She isn't here to tolerate _any_ of it.

"Hey!" Emma exclaims, stepping up on top of the nearest boulder. Killian stands next to it, feet firmly on the ground and his hand on his sword as if daring anyone to argue with her. "Listen to me, this isn't right."

A few people frown, but George scoffs, shaking his head. "Don't listen to her. The Savior isn't much of a savior at all if she can't agree to having us protect ourselves. What is it, sweetheart?" he asks patronizingly, voice dripping with skepticism. "You can protect yourself and your little boyfriend, but the people taking on that mantle themselves makes you uncomfortable? How awful it must be when things aren't about you. You and your father both share that trait."

The handful of people stationed at the canons seem torn. Ursula frowns, arriving at the scene just a few minutes after Killian and Emma do.

Emma's eyes narrow. "I'm lucky that the trait of callous murderer died with you, then. You can mask this as self-defense all you want, but targeting innocent people doesn't protect anyone."

"I'm not targeting innocents," George points out, sounding bored. "Unless you consider the queen's killers innocent, but I suppose that wouldn't shock me at all given the company you keep," his eyes flit to Killian meaningfully.

This just pisses Emma off more. She widens her stance on the rock, crossing her arms and narrowing eyes as she looks down - literally - on him with disgust. "You're a coward."

"Excuse me?" George asks, a choked laugh on his lips.

"You'll let innocent people die - collateral damage or not, they're still being killed - so you can get that rush of ruling over people back. You can think it makes you safer, but it only makes you more at risk," Emma emphasizes. "You get people to hate you for what you've done, you establish yourself as willing to sink to the same depths Regina is, you lose all credibility with the people who are hurt by her the most. You can't just attack innocent people, related to guards or not."

"She's right," Ursula chimes in, striding up to stand on the other side of her. "Killing them won't keep us safe - we have to protect ourselves, but this isn't how we do that. Our traps have worked for this long."

"And they're about to work for longer," a new voice announces. Their heads swivel to see the source of it, finding a young guard in dark armor. It's not a reassuring sight.

Killian draws his sword and Emma follows suit, eyeing the guard with suspicion.

"There was a matter of concern to the queen in the southern part of the kingdom," the stranger explains. "Most of the new guards went there, they said, um, the Savior and Captain Hook had been spotted there."

Killian snorts, at that. "And where did they get that information from?"

"Me," the guard says, sheepishly.

Killian grins. Emma raises her eyebrows, feeling as if she's very much missing something.

"Do you know this kid?" she asks, leaning towards Killian.

"In a manner of ways, yes," Killian nods. "I gave him some advice when Ursula and I ventured to the village to see what exactly the guards were planning. It seems he's taken it."

"I want to help," the guard tells them, biting his lip. He drops the helmet he's carrying on the grass. "I want to help you guys."

"You're going to trust him?" George asks incredulously.

"Put the canons away," Emma instructs her voice firm.

"But-" George protests.

"I said," Emma's voice turns sharp as she turns to him. "Put the canons away. Don't make me ask a third time."

"You have some nerve-"

"I do," Emma replies, unrepentantly. "And as the _Savior_ , I'm telling you to put those canons away."

He nearly stomps his feet as he stalks away. The dozen or so people from the camp, though, seem to take her command seriously, grabbing the canons and wheeling them back towards where George is leaving.

Emma releases a sigh of relief, stepping down from the rock with Killian's help.

"Why did they have canons?" the guard asks, confused.

"It's a long story," Emma replies with a sigh. "What's your name?"

"Hercules," he introduces himself a bit bashfully. "I'm - I thought I could take care of my dad by joining...by joining Regina's guard. He disowned me for it, hasn't spoken to me in years, but I thought...he's always hated Regina, been a vocal critic of hers. I thought by being in the guard, I could protect him if they decided to go after him for it."

"Well," Killian replies, a faint smile on his lips. "I do believe your father would be proud of you, for this."

Hercules lightens at the thought, a faint smile gracing his lips.

"Well, Hercules," Ursula says lightly. "I have a feeling there's going to be an extra space for you at the camp. Maybe we can get you back in touch with your father, too."

He beams.

-/-

They find George, pacing and livid, when they get back to the camp. Hercules goes in the direction of an open tent Ursula points him to. It's just Killian, Emma, and Ursula left standing with George.

"You should leave," Emma tells George, point blank. "You should disguise yourself, hide somewhere. You shouldn't be here, telling these people what to do."

"I'm the only reason they're alive," George retorts. "They need me!"

"No," Ursula says, stepping up to face him. "We don't. You need us, not the other way around. You lost your kingdom and decided to command yourself a new one."

"And you think you have what it takes to lead?" George says in disbelief.

"I have a little more confidence in someone who doesn't see directing a canon at where children sleep as a viable option for defense," Emma scoffs, placing a hand on Ursula's shoulder. "You wanted me to give you my advice, to tell the people that what we're doing is right. With Ursula, I can do that."

And it's true - the woman has shown herself capable of forgiveness and of toughness, of strength and of leadership all within a few hours. Emma feels comfortable leaving the dozens of people at the camp in her hands.

Ursula sends her a small smile.

"You're just like your father," George hisses, turning to Emma. It's clear he's intending for the words to be much more of an insult than they actually are. "A disappointment."

"Thanks," Emma grins, tight and close-lipped. "If this is what he was like, than I'm _proud_ to be like him. You can show yourself out of here."

"Unless," Killian trails off, drawing his sword from his belt. "You'd like some assistance."

The implication is clear. George pales. A true coward if she's ever seen one.

"I'll give you fifteen minutes to get your things together," Emma announces, crossing her arms.

"Ah, don't you reckon we should give him an hour?" Killian offers, a grin on his lips.

"Fine," Emma smirks. "An hour."

He retreats back to his tent without another word. Ursula snorts.

"You sure you left this place in the right hands?" Ursula asks dubiously, looking over to the two of them.

"Positive," Emma answers, pulling Killian's hand in hers after his puts his sword back in his belt. "Especially in comparison to him."

"Damned with faint praise," Ursula murmurs.

Emma laughs, a little, at that. "Hardly. The guy kept a kingdom together, somehow. You should be able to keep a camp together a hell of a lot better than he did."

"Thanks," Ursula manages, a genuine smile creeping on her lips. "For everything. I can't look past what happened to my father. I can't forget that. But at least I can see...I can see everything isn't always in our control and things aren't as they seem, now."

Killian's answering smile is soft. "I wish you nothing but the best, Ursula."

"Same to you two," she replies. Ursula takes a few steps backwards. "I'm going to talk to everyone, inform them about the latest madness. Will you two be sticking around?"

Emma shakes her head. "We should really get going."

"Right," Ursula replies, nodding her head. "Of course. Just know you're welcome here."

Emma gives her a grateful smile before Ursula turns around to leave, heading towards the nearest tent to talk to its occupants. She sighs, leaning into Killian.

"One day," Killian hums, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I'll tell you the story of how I became a pirate."

"Exciting," Emma laughs, pressing her head to his shoulder as she threads her arm around his waist. "Let me guess - all the rum and women won you over?"

"A terrible king who wouldn't fight his enemies fairly, actually," Killian murmurs thoughtfully. "Let's just say your grandfather reminded me of him, a bit."

-/-

They walk to another village, of which the kingdom seems to have an infinite supply. They go a few hours north, the opposite direction of where the guards are gathering. They can thank Hercules, for that. They need a bed to sleep in and the closest inn, at least, supplies it.

It's only a matter of time before they can't make it two paces without guards finding them, with the way word of them spreads. And it isn't as if they're subtle. They'll take the rest where they can get it, Killian supposes.

It's late and dark and nearly morning by the time they get to an inn, exhausted on their feet. Emma slumps on the bed almost immediately, groaning in exhaustion, and Killian shrugs off his coat. It nearly sticks to his forearm, where the bandage has been wrapped around over his wound. Killian sighs, lifting his sleeve enough to peek under the dressing. If it's stopped its bleeding, there's really no point in keeping it on.

Killian looks under the cloth and swears he must be hallucinating.

He unravels the bandage curiously, his eyebrows nearly raising off his head when he finds nothing but healed skin where his wound once was. It's not scabbed, it's not pink, it's as if there never was a wound in the first place.

Nothing short of a magic touch could have yielded such results.

Killian looks from his healed forearm to Emma, curled up into herself on the bed. The day has taken its toll on her, he knows, and if he knows her she's feeling torn and guilty over matters she truly shouldn't feel guilty about. Her hair covers her face, blonde strands sticking to her cheeks and breaths coming in and out sharply. Her coat is still on - her armor, he understands - and she's protecting herself as much as she can. Curling up like this, keeping her face covered and her leather on, is small shelter from her thoughts.

He lets his sleeve fall over his forearm. Killian won't worry her with this, now. She has enough to worry about. Still, the thought of her potentially possessing magic is an interesting one. Her adoptive mother had the skill, perhaps a bit of it rubbed off on her. Or perhaps it was her Savior abilities manifesting themselves, the work of a powerful sorceress of legend.

Killian thinks, idly, of the mysterious hole that found itself in the cave where they first kissed. He doesn't often find boulders that heavy rolling themselves off the top of a cave, see.

Killian saves the thought for later, kicking off his boots and softly padding over to the bed. He sits down beside her and waits patiently.

"You alright, Swan?" he asks gently.

She moves to sit in his lap, her legs on either side of his hips. One of her hands settles at his neck, idly playing with the hair she finds there. "I just feel…" Emma rasps, her mouth on his shoulder muffling her words and her eyes on the wall instead of on his. It's likely an audience that she finds less pressure in.

"You feel guilty," he surmises. "Even though you saved those people and George is gone, you feel guilty."

"What if he was right?" she asks, her voice sounding fragile. "What if...what if there's not much difference between George and I, after all? I've killed guards. How many Grahams and Yous and…" she closes her eyes, frustrated with herself, "everyone else like that are out there?"

"Tell me how many of these Grahams and Is you've killed, Swan," he murmurs, remembering the guard she mentioned after she saved Marian. His hand comes up to cup her cheek. His thumb runs across her cheekbone and her eyes flutter shut, leaning into the touch as if on instinct.

It's all instinct, with them.

"That's the problem," Emma frowns, lines forming on her face with the gesture. "I don't know. Either way, they're dead and there's nothing I can do to change that."

He frowns, mirroring her expression. "And that's what's causing this guilt, hm?"

Emma nods, looking torn. She bites her lip, her brow furrowed.

"Let me tell you something, then, Swan," he starts, voice light and calm. Killian keeps his voice as soft as possible, trying to soothe her all he can. "What happens to men like that is Regina's fault, not yours. You do all you can, but you cannot allow yourself to be killed. Controlled or not, you have to defend your own life. That doesn't make you like George - who seems to not concern himself with casualties and the lives of innocents at all - that makes you like _Emma_. And if it was me," he swallows, steeling his voice. "If I was the one being controlled, if I was the one coming after you…"

"Killian," Emma protests, shaking her head. "Please, just don't even...that's not something I want to think about."

"If I was the one coming after you," Killian repeats, determined to get the words out. She should know this, should the worst ever happen. If Regina or, worse perhaps, if Rumplestiltskin managed to gain control of his heart. "I'd want you to kill me rather than allow me to hurt you. That's what I would infinitely prefer."

Emma clenches her eyes shut. Her forehead falls to press against his shoulder as she exhales shakily. "You really shouldn't talk like that."

Killian's hand tightens at her back. "It's what you need to know, Swan. I hope it never comes to that, but if it does, I don't want you to hesitate."

Emma sighs, unsatisfied with his reply. He moves his hand up to knot in her long hair, cradling her head against him. "Emma…"

"Can we just," Emma groans, voice softer than he's accustomed to. She sounds weaker, feebler, and the thought sends pangs to his chest. "Can we just not talk about this right now?"

"Of course," he complies immediately, hand sliding to cup her cheek so he can meet her eyes, "We should rest."

Emma nods, eyes closing as she leans against him.

"Let's take this off," he hums thoughtfully, his palm leaving her cheek to slide down to the lapel of her coat. He moves his prosthetic from her back to follow, moving to her waist. "Is that alright?"

Her eyes flit up to meet his and she nods, slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, that's alright."

Killian doesn't undervalue the significance of this concession, of her allowing him to remove her armor. He's spent weeks chipping away at her walls, trying to make her see, make her understand, make her feel how special she is, how good she is, how much he adores her.

Whether that's by standing by her side as she stands up to and for her people or by helping her forgive herself, he'll do what he can.

Killian drags the red leather off her body, her arms complying with him in order to do so. He pulls her closer to him as soon as he does, letting his hand on her back press her closer to him.

She sighs, contentedly, as she props her chin on his shoulder.

 _I love you, I love you, I love you._

He feels the words at the tip of his tongue, feels them on the verge of leaving his mouth. Killian swallows them, regardless. She isn't ready to hear it, not yet. Still, there are other ways he can show the words, show her how much she means to him.

His hand moves further down on her back, fingers ghosting under the fabric of her shirt and pressing against the skin he finds there. Emma's breath hitches by his ear and she noses along the line of his shoulder, adjusting herself in his lap.

"You alright there, Swan?" he manages, his hand sliding up further until it's splayed across the small of her bare back.

"Yup," she tells him, her head coming up from his shoulder. She lifts her hand to rest on his face, looking into his eyes, and follows the curve of his jaw with her thumb. "I'm alright."

She stares at him, for a moment, and they sit there just breathing each other in before she slowly leans forward. Her nose brushes against his and he can almost count her eyelashes with her this close, can feel her breath fanning on his face before she gently, almost reverently, presses a kiss to his lips.

He leans up into the kiss, groaning and pressing her closer - he'll never get her close enough, she's already enough under his skin that nothing will ever feel like enough - to him. He drags his tongue along her upper lip, pressed between his lips, and encourages her to deepen the kiss, pressing his hips against hers as she rocks against him in his lap. Her hand moves from his cheek to the back of his head, clinging onto her hair as she slides impossibly closer to him,

The smacking of their lips and their thick, heavy breaths fill the room. The taste of her, he's discovered, is more intoxicating than any rum.

She leans backwards, her hips still in his lap, and looks up at him a challengingly. Her eyebrow quirks upwards, an unanswered question.

He grins, shaking his head, as he carefully slides her legs off of his lap. She frowns, a little at that, before he leans forward, knees on either side of her hips and elbows propped at either side of her head. Emma holds him in place, her fingers coming to wrap around his back.

"Hello," he says, dipping his head down to brush his nose against hers.

Emma laughs, hand skimming up his back to grab ahold of his hair. "Hello," she mimics, tilting her chin up so her lips brush against his. Once, twice, and on the third gentle brush he dips down enough to kiss her soundly, her fingers in his hair pulling him down and his hand coming up to press his thumb into the indent of her chin.

He slides his hand down, gradually, to the first button of her vest. Killian's lips leave hers and he glances down, meaningfully, to where his fingers fiddle with the small button.

Emma's other hand, the one not knotted in his hair, joins his hand on the button, her small fingers wrapping around his larger ones. He's sure, for a moment, that she's going to brush his hand away, going to say - with words or without - that the day has been too strenuous to do this, that she's not ready for this again.

Killian already has his nod of understanding ready, his hand almost slipping out from under hers before she catches it and holds it in place.

"Do it," she states simply, her eyes pinned to his.

He complies, undoing the first button while her hand slides down to undo the second. Killian stills her hand, next, threading his fingers through hers. His thumb runs over the back of her hand reverently before he brings it up to his mouth.

"Let me take care of you," he instructs gently, pressing a kiss to her hand.

Emma inhales shakily and his heartbeat thrums in his ears. "Okay," she complies, her voice steady and sure, a contrast to her breaths.

"There's a good girl," he coos, a grin on his lips. Killian presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth as his hand drops hers to continue with the buttons. With every button, he kisses her again. The fourth, he kisses her cheek. The fifth, he kisses her nose. The sixth, he kisses her forehead.

"Killian," Emma pants, squirming underneath him in a way that's nothing short of delightful.

"Patience, love," he instructs lightly, moving down to kiss her lips, intending for it to be as light and fleeting as his kisses to the planes of her face were.

By the time he has the seventh and final button undone, she kisses him again.

"You might want to speed up the process," she rasps against his lips, arching her back and pressing her chest against his.

He shakes his head with a grin. "And miss savoring you, Swan? I'd rather," his lips trail down from the corner of her lips to the underside of her jaw, sucking a patch of skin into his mouth. She huffs, but moves her neck to allow him greater access as he follows the curve of her neck down with his teeth, just pressing lightly enough to make her shiver in his arms. "Take my time," he rasps, worrying the skin between her neck and shoulder with his teeth before kissing it.

Emma's hands move to the buttons on her shirt but he stops her, pulling both hands into his one and pressing them down over her head.

"Let me," he insists, smirking at her impatience.

"Yeah?" Emma asks doubtfully. "How are you going to do that if your hand is pinning mine down?"

Killian chuckles, dipping his head down to the valley of her breasts, the 'v' of them just visible in how her shirt falls, the scar above her left breast visible. He runs his tongue over it, pecking it lightly. "I've learned to use my mouth with only one hand, love. How did you get this?"

"Get what?"

He kisses the scar again, bringing his head up to look at her long enough for her to answer.

"Oh," she hums, her head coming back to rest against the pillow. "Swordfight. Gepetto was teaching me when I was," Emma does the mathematics in her head, for a moment, "Sixteen or seventeen, I think. I was really into it, got a little too gung-ho. He felt terrible for nicking me with the sword, but it just made me want to get better."

Killian grins, at that, his face softening. "I can picture it."

And he can, for a moment, Emma with a younger face and Gepetto a bit more spry, swords clanging in the back room of the shop. Gepetto likely did tear himself up over the injury while Emma only shrugged it off in the way that Emma could. He wonders, idly, why her mother didn't heal it.

Perhaps Emma just wanted the scar. She likes her mementos, he's noticed, from the flower inked on her wrist to the small chain she wears around her neck.

Emma sighs, drawing him out of his thoughts. "You okay?" she asks, meeting his eyes.

Killian sucks the skin surrounding the scar hard enough for it to leave a small red circle, a memento of this. He intends on leaving more, tracing his path on her body as if he's marking a map, before the night is over. "Aye," he replies easily, taking the top button of her shirt and sliding it out of its constraints with his teeth.

She watches him with rapt attention, lust clear in her gaze.

Killian's eyes move down to her breasts, his hand following his gaze and letting hers free. He skims his knuckles along the tops of her breasts, watching vigilantly as the peaks harden through the fabric. Killian's lips twitch, at that.

"What's so funny?" Emma asks, sounding frustrated (he hopes to get her frustrated enough that she's completely wet and wanting by the time he makes his path downwards, that he has plenty of evidence to lap up with his tongue).

He doesn't answer, just unbuttons another button with his teeth and pinches one of her nipples through the fabric of her shirt. Emma hisses, the sound wanton and needy.

"You're torturing me," she says, simply, her head leaning back against the pillows.

"I'm doing no such thing," he protests, moving his hand down to finish unbuttoning. He finally finishes his handiwork, the shirt hanging loosely over her torso. He peels back both sides of it, dragging the vest with it, as if he's peeling away the wrapping of an especially precious gift.

He didn't get much of a chance to drink in the sight, before, so determined to get inside of her and have her wanting and panting beneath him that slowing down hardly seemed like an option at all. Now, he does. His eyes trace from the bottom up - to the taut skin of her stomach to the pale skin of her breasts, marked with dark freckles and pink tips, so hard in the cool air it almost looks painful.

His cock strains against the fabric of his leathers, at the thought, and Killian thinks perhaps he can relate.

Her eyes are heavy lidded when they meet his, studying him as his gaze flickers between her bare upper body and her face.

She's had a terrible day, he knows, but perhaps he can help with that. He's going to distract her, Killian swears, get her to take her mind off of it all. He owes her it, he reasons, these few moments of peace. He owes her gratefulness that she trusts him, thankfulness that she chose him, worshipfulness to make her green eyes bright and her pink lips curl into a smile.

Killain starts by pressing a kiss to the tip of each breast, tongue dragging across the nipple as she arches underneath him, arms still above her head. Then, he resolves to kiss every freckle he spots on her. There's one nearly between her breasts, one on the side of one, a couple on the right and a few on the left. Killian traces the seam of his lips over every one of them, Emma's eyes fluttering shut as she pants underneath him.

Then, he sucks one of her nipples into his mouth, circling the other with the pad of his thumb before he switches sides. Emma cries out and it's music to his ears, to hear her sounding so wrecked.

He begins kissing downwards, determined to show her every method of worship he has.

"You don't have to-" Emma argues, his lips dancing along her ribcage. His hand comes up to cup at the underside of one of her breasts, running his thumb along the sensitive patch of skin.

"Shh," he murmurs soothingly, pressing kissing down her stomach. Killian sucks a patch of her skin in his mouth, leaving a slight bruise. He laves his tongue soothingly over the mark. He's still mapping his trail, leaving signs to mark his journey. "Just let me take care of you, Swan."

Emma hums, her hand raking through his hair. "Thank you," she murmurs, her eyes falling shut.

He knows she's talking about more than this, more than the touches and his mouth against her and the warmth of her body underneath his. He noses along her ribs, his breaths fanning out across her abdomen. "Always, darling."

-/-

He's so good to her, like this.

Emma can't believe she's been denying herself of his touch so long, the gentle presses of his fingers along her ribcage and the wetness of his mouth on her stomach. Killian stops at her belly button, hand gently tugging off her pants and pulling her underwear along with them. He stills once he does, leaning back and studying her, eyes skimming from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

"What are you doing?" Emma asks, raising her eyebrows.

"Committing the sight of you like this to memory," Killian murmurs, his eyes alternating between the peaks of her breasts and where her thighs meet. If she knows him, he's looking at the marks he's left on her with his mouth, too, proud of his handiwork. "Do you know how beautiful you are, Emma? I'm the luckiest man in all the realms, right now."

Emma laughs, unable to help herself. "You're not so bad, yourself."

"Mm," he murmurs, drawing her legs over his shoulders and worrying the skin between her belly and the valley of her thighs - right between the center of her hips and above where the trimmed blonde hair starts - tracing patterns with his tongue as her eyes nearly roll into the back of her head. "That's always nice to hear."

Killian moves his head down, lower, until he's only inches from where she needs him, his mouth settling on marking where her thigh meets the juncture between her legs. So close, but not nearly close enough. His hand moves to settle at her ass, tugging her closer to him and propping her upwards.

"Do you need a map, down there?" Emma asks, teasing him, though she swears she could kill him if he doesn't speed this process up soon. He could kill _her_ , with this.

His breath fans over her sensitive skin, making her squirm impatiently. "No, love. I already know where my treasure lies."

Killian sucks her clit into his mouth, his tongue rolling over the bead of it over and over until she's gasping above him, her hands knotting into the sheets on the bed. Her legs shake on his shoulders and her elbows nearly fall out from under her, It feels so good, so overpowering, the juxtaposition between the anticipation and him diving in, fucking her with his mouth like he's starving and she's his last meal.

It's not the first time he's done this, fixed his mouth between her thighs and licked and sucked until she reached completion, but last time was so desperate and needy it hardly took anything at all to make them come. It was a singular drive to take, want, have. This is different, this is languid and slow and when his tongue slides back and forth over her clit she could cry, it feels so good.

"You taste so wonderful, sweetheart," he murmurs between licks, tongue darting to collect the wetness that he finds at her opening. "I could do this for hours, worship you like this. Would you like that, darling?"

She can only manage a moan, trying to resist the temptation to lock her legs around his face and knot her fingers in his hair and press him closer and closer.

Killian curls his tongue inside of her, then, meeting her eyes as he does so. They're almost black, the rings of blue barely visible, and his eyes don't leave hers as his tongue slides in and out and in and out. She arches her back, biting her lip as she resists crying out.

"Let me hear you," he protests, lips leaving her just long enough for him to say it before he returns to his previous task, his nose pressing against her clit as his tongue delves right back between her folds, driving her absolutely fucking crazy.

"There are people-" she hisses, cooing and keening when he finds a particularly sensitive spot inside of her. "Ah, there are people in other rooms."

"I don't bloody care," he mutters, moving to suck her clit back into his mouth and his hand cupping her ass and pressing her even more firmly against him. "Just let me hear you, Emma."

His teeth scrape, lightly, over her clit and she shatters right there. She provides plenty of noise that should satisfy him - a choked _'Killian'_ that she barely finds the lung capacity to breathe out, moaning and arching her hips off the bed to meet his lips, her hand finding its way into his hair and pressing him closer, desperate to chase more of what he can give.

He continues his licking, just enough to ride the aftershocks out.

Emma squirms underneath him, her legs leaving his shoulders and splaying wide on either side of him. With him between them, she doesn't have much of a choice.

Killian grins, at that. His mouth leaves her, hand coming up from underneath her to wipe the evidence of her arousal from his beard. Her wetness sticks to it, she notes, the sight making her even more aroused and needy and, fuck, she needs him _now_.

He moves his fingers to suck them into his mouth, one by one, and she _groans_.

She moves up to start ripping off his clothes, starting with his barely buttoned shirt and ending with those tight pants Emma isn't sure he'll last another second in, given the way his cock protrudes from them in a way that nearly looks painful.

Killian's hand presses her back towards the mattress when she leans up, however, and he shakes his head. "Stay like this, love," he instructs, eyes lingering where her legs are still spread. "I love you like this."

There's an awkward pause, after he says it, as if he's afraid he's said something he shouldn't have.

Emma clears her throat, waiting not-so-patiently for him to at least take off his damn clothes himself.

Which he does, with his eyes on hers the entire time. He slides his body over hers once he's finished - the sight of him bare, like this, will never not make her throat dry just a little, with the definition of his chest and the way he feels safe enough with her to take off his brace and the sight of his cock, hard and jutting and just inches from her when he's positioned like this - her legs still splayed wide and his held up by his knees.

"You alright, love?" he asks, voice rasping against her ear, his chest pressed against hers in a way that has her nipples scraping against his chest hair.

She feels like she's on fire, but she nods nonetheless, desperate to feel more of this, of him.

He's ready and thick at her entrance, the head of him nearly slipping in. His cock brushes once, twice, against her clit and she can't help but groan underneath him. He obliges her silent demands, finally, slipping inside of her.

The stretch of him feels so, so good. She tells him as much, hissing the words out when he's halfway in - hard and huge - fingers grasping at his back. When he's finally all of the way in, bottoming out and making her spread her legs even wider to try to accommodate him, she lets out a long, keening moan.

"You feel so bloody good around me," he grunts into her ear, starting slow strokes to press him deeper and deeper inside of her. "Tight and wet, the perfect fit. You're perfect. So perfect for me, just like this. Bloody gorgeous, sweetheart, you're so beautiful."

She grinds against him, squeezing around him just to hear him hiss.

"I don't suppose you've any more of that potion, do you?" Killian asks, abruptly stilling inside of her.

It takes her a minute to realize what he means. "Fuck," she exhales, eyes fluttering shut in disappointment. "Fuck."

"It's alright," he reassures her quickly, pulling out of her only most of the way. "Just means I can't come inside of you, which...while unfortunate, is better than not being inside of you at all."

Killian considers this, for a moment, stilling with only the tip of his cock inside of her. She pants, trying to press herself down on him, slide down further on him, but she can only manage a slight wiggle that still has her feeling bereft. He pulls out entirely and she almost _whines_.

"We're just going to have to get creative," he rasps, kissing her quickly on the lips. His hand comes down to wrap around one of her ankles, pulling it up. "Do you trust me?"

Emma nods, words not coming easily to her at the moment. They typically don't, during sex, but sex with Killian especially.

He lifts her ankle up more, pulling it over his shoulder. He moves his hand down to guide himself back inside her, gradually filling her once more while his blunted arm stills at her hip.

It takes her a moment to get it, to understand what he's doing. Once she does, though, she can't hold back the moan. He feels even bigger inside of her, like this, she's stretching even more to accommodate him and she feels her clit brush against him with every slow thrust.

"You like that, Swan?" he asks, grinning above her. "This feeling, this position, do you like me better like this? Do I fill you up better, draw more pretty noises from those perfect lips that I can cherish?"

She realizes why he's done this, made it so it feels that much better for her. Her clit pressing against his pelvis and his cock pressing deeper and deeper inside of her to the point it nearly burns. Emma moans, the sound guttural, and he fucking _beams_.

"Killian, Killian, Killian," she says his name, over and over again. That only seems to make him more determined, his thrusts becoming quicker and fuller and it doesn't take any time at all, really, for her to come gasping his name and tangling her fingers in his hair and clutching him down to her, his head in the crook of her shoulder and her hips rocking underneath him.

He slips out of her once her aftershocks have faded, once her rocking slows and her hands aren't tangled quite as inextricably in his hair. Killian hums, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, as he pulls himself up on elbows to look at her, eyes light with wanting and affection and something else, entirely.

She tries to find the words, the right ones, to say how much he means to her, to convey what she feels. Emma can't find any and the unfound words rattle in her lungs, stealing her air away from her until all she's left with are sharp, staccato breaths.

Emma can at least find another way to say something, though.

"Let's switch places," Emma groans, the sweat sticking to her back and she tries to sit up, the weight of his body on hers stopping her.

"Hm?" Killian asks, confused.

She can still feel him, hard and heavy between her thighs, and she rolls her eyes. "Let me up. Then lie down, right here."

He catches her train of thought, his mouth parting in realization. "Darling, you don't have to-"

She cuts him off before he has a chance to reply, flipping them over herself with the right pressure against his shoulders and the right lift of her hips. He's breathless as he looks up at her, nearly mystified, and she kisses him, hard, before she moves on to trail kisses down his body.

"No," Emma shakes her head, straddling him. She kisses her own path down his chest and follows the patch of his hair until she gets to her destination, where his cock is still slick with her wetness. She wraps her hand around the base of him and he moans, thoughtlessly jerking his hips into her touch. "I don't have to. I want to," she says the words slowly.

Killian swallows, hard. He's uncharacteristically at loss for words.

Emma ducks her head down, licking a long stripe with her tongue along the length of his cock. Killian lets out a muffled moan, his fingers sliding into her hair. "Emma," he exhales, sounding as if saying her name took the only breath he had left in his body. "Emma, Emma, darling."

She takes in a deep breath before closing her lips over the tip of him, running her tongue over the moisture she finds there as she tries sinking deeper and deeper. He's panting underneath her and she sets her hands on either side of his hips, pinning him down to the bed.

Their combined tastes aren't terrible, she'll admit.

Emma breathes in, steadily, through her mouth, seeing how far she can take him in. With the way he's warbling her name and singing her praises underneath her, she's not sure it's going to take much.

She swallows around him, throat contracting, and his hand fists in her hair.

"Emma," he rasps, a bead of sweat falling down his forehead as she looks up at him from underneath her lashes. "Darling, you're so beautiful. You feel so good like this, love, those pretty lips," he groans, again, trying to keep his hips still as she sucks even more of him into her mouth. His cock drags near her throat, but she ignores it, determined. She opens her mouth wider, her tongue gliding along the the underside of him.

"You're so beautiful, so wonderful, so bloody marvelous -" his endless string of praises for her and her mouth and her tongue are cut off when she slides her mouth back and forth, finally setting him over the edge. His fingers tighten in her hair and he freezes underneath her, her lips still wrapped firmly around him and swallowing everything he gives her.

He's a ragdoll on the bed by the time she crawls back up his body, pressing a kiss to his chest and draping a sheet over the two of them.

"You're amazing," he wheezes out, his arm wrapping around her waist possessively. "Bloody brilliant, love."

She laughs, a little, at this. "If I knew all I'd have to do to have you be putty in my hands is -"

"I'm always putty in your hands," he corrects, pressing a kiss to her forehead before tilting her chin up with his thumb to kiss her. She reciprocates, the drag of her lips against his slow and lazy, before they separate just enough for him to continue. "How could I be anything but?"

Emma grins, sitting up and leaning her arm across the bed to grasp for the flask of water on the table. She takes greedy gulps, chasing the sticky feeling in her throat away. It's not a bad taste, but it wouldn't be a feeling comfortable to wake up with. She offers it to Killian, who takes it and swallows a few sips before handing it back to her.

It's easy, all small gestures and spectacular orgasms. With him with her, like this, it's hard to for her bad thoughts to stick. He's been her constant, her anchor through all of this. Now, he's even more than that - her partner, her confidant, her lover.

He's hers and she's his and she likes it, this way. The complications all seem to fade away when he looks at her like this, eyes still fixed and affectionate on hers as he does something as simple as sets a flask back on the table.

"What's on your mind?" he asks, licking his lips.

"I'm glad we're like this, now," Emma hums thoughtfully, still sitting up beside him.

He grins affectionately up at her, hand coming up to brush a strand of her hair away from her face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she murmurs, leaning into his touch. "I am. No more trying to stay away, no more making excuses, no more worrying about the consequences...just this."

"Aye," he agrees, sliding his hand along her shoulder as she lowers her head to his chest and nuzzles into him, her hand rubbing circles on his chest. "Just this, just you and I."

Killian looks as if he wants to say more, wants to tell her something, but she's so sleepy and exhausted and sated she almost drifts off when he tucks the sheet back over her.

"You okay?" she asks, her words slurring together just a bit.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to her hair and wrapping his arm more firmly around her back. "I can honestly say I haven't been any better in a very long time, love."

Her eyes flutter shut, content with that answer. Killian props himself up just enough to blow out the candles on the bedside, and her breaths are steady and full by the time he lays back all the way down.

"Goodnight, Swan," he hums, his arm pulling her even more snug against him. "Just this," he repeats, "I never want to lose this, never want to lose you."

Emma is asleep before she can think any more of it, the foggy memory lost by morning.


	14. Fever

**A/N: Hey! Happy Wednesday, guys. I almost didn't post this chapter because I'm on hiatus and just - ergh - stressed in general. I keep on getting myself worked up and anxious about writing and general fandom-y things and just need to take a breather. So! I may not answer you on tumblr, but I can at least post this. Because, honestly, the messages and comments I've gotten about people who look forward to this day of the week because of this fic really, really made me not want to disappoint you guys and miss a week. Hopefully, I can get out of this rut and write the next chapter for next week, too, but I'll at least get this up. Insecurity and anxiety sucks so hard. Amber, Steph, and Ella are the best cheerleaders/proofreaders/etc a girl could ask for, so I'm forever grateful to them for keeping me sane. Without em, I'd had decided to give up by now.**

 **That all being said, I hope you guys like this chapter!**

-/-

The morning after is filled with a hazy sort of contentment. Killian's arm is hooked around her waist, keeping her to his chest. Her body rises and falls with his breaths. Emma lifts her head up after a brief moment of enjoying the peace, looking down at him blearily. Killian is still out cold, snoring in a way that's barely noticeable, and she holds back her laugh with a bite of her lip.

Fiercesome pirate Captain Hook of the seven seas, snoring and snuggling under her with his hair sticking up haphazardly, closed eyes framed by long eyelashes and faded kohl, and his face tranquil. It's a sight to be seen.

She resolves to lay back down and get some more sleep right with him. Emma nuzzles into the crook of his neck, pressing a light kiss there, and drapes the sheet over them again. The prospect of getting more sleep goes out the window once Emma feels a hand skimming along the length of her back - calloused warmth soothing her spine.

Emma looks up, meeting his just opening eyes as his mouth splits into a wide yawn, and can't hold back her grin.

"Good morning," Killian tells her, voice thick with sleep.

"Good morning to you," she replies. "Remember when you were the morning person?"

"Don't remind me," he grunts, hand settling at the nape of her neck. "You do know how to exhaust a man, love."

She raises her eyebrows. "I don't remember you complaining."

"Wasn't," he tells her, pressing a quick kiss to her lips as he slides out from under her. She almost complains, almost tugs him back to bed, but he just moves on top of her and begins kissing her neck and peeling the sheet she's draped in down. "It's you, I could never complain."

She grins fondly at him, leaning up to kiss him again and trailing her lips in a haphazard pattern along his cheekbones. Emma notices something, though, when his handless arm trails along her waist. She glances at it and frowns and Killian's face falls.

"I can put the brace back on, if you would prefer-"

"Shh," she shushes him, hand gently curling around his forearm and keeping him right where he is. That was the opposite of what she wanted. His face looks a little relieved and he exhales. "It's not that, trust me. Touch me all you want, but didn't you have a cut on your arm there? Or am I just hallucinating?"

"Was there?" he swallows, eyes flickering to where her hand is on his arm.

"It's healed," she murmurs, eyebrows furrowing together as he thumb ghosts over where she's sure a cut once was. "Your arm, it's healed. It looks like there was never a cut in the first place. No cut heals that quickly."

"You didn't notice last night?"

"I was..." she trails off, pointedly. "Distracted."

"Ah," Killian grins, pressing another kiss to her neck. "I'm told I can be quite...distracting."

Emma rolls her eyes, pressing her head further down on the pillow. She tilts her chin up in a move to nestle herself in. Killian takes advantage of the move, nipping at the underside of her jaw.

"Now you're distracting me even more," Emma groans. "What were we talking about again?"

"Haven't the faintest idea, love."

"Your arm," she mutters, running her fingers up and down the limb in question. The healed skin is still baffling to her. "We were talking about your arm."

"Ah, yes," he hums, pressing a kiss to her chin. "I'm not overly concerned about it, love."

"Really?" she asks dubiously. "You aren't? Magically healed arm isn't weird at all to you?"

"Perhaps your mother's healing powers rubbed off on you," he suggests absentmindedly.

"And that isn't concerning?"

"Concerning?" he parrots, hand running up to skim by her bare ribcage. His fingers sweep under the curve of her breasts and she groans. Distracted, she definitely is. "It's a good thing, if you do have it. I'm hardly going to complain."

"So, me having magical healing powers or not isn't..." Emma loses her breath, inhaling sharply, when the pads of his fingers brush over one of her nipples. "Fuck, Killian, I can't concentrate."

His hand stills, still at her breast, and he grins at her innocuously. "Apologies, love."

"You're being awfully relaxed about this, you know," Emma notes, frowning."Are you sure everything is okay?"

"I don't want you to feel pressured," he supplies, a small smile still on his lips. "I know how you feel when you overthink things-"

"I _don't_ overthink things."

A laugh nearly bubbles out of his mouth. "Are you sure about that, sweetheart?"

Emma blinks. "Okay, fine, maybe I sometimes overthink things. But if I healed you...that's kind of something significant, isn't it? I mean, I know I have a little bit of magic, but it was more...floating feathers and lighting candles sometimes I never healed a cut before, Killian. What if it's some Savior-y thing? What if it backfires because I don't know how to control it? What if-"

Killian brings his hand up to cup her cheek, pressing an affectionate kiss to her forehead and effectively cutting her off. He's already proven his point, she did it for him. "Emma, love, this is why I didn't want you to worry. You have enough on your shoulders as it is. A silly little scratch shouldn't add more to that burden."

Emma sighs, tilting her forehead against his lips. "What a mess."

"It's you," he shakes his head. "It could never be a mess."

The corner of her mouth lifts, at that. Emma moves her head back to the pillow and stares at him for a minute, the sunlight streaming in through the curtains of the inn's window, warming the bed and illuminating his face, and his blue eyes the lightest shade she's seen them. Her hand comes up to cup his jaw, the pad of her thumb rubbing his beard.

"I like this," she tells him sincerely. And she does, she feels warm and safe and happy here with him. Even though everything else is insanity, she has this.

Emma may have walls - for good reason, based off past and current experience, between the people who have left her and the people currently trying to kill her - but with him it's easy to let her guard down. Not all the way, but just enough so she can have moments like this.

Moments like this, good moments she can take advantage of.

"What?" he asks, voice sounding quiet in its confusion. "Your magic?"

"No," Emma shakes her head, sitting up to press a soft kiss to his mouth. His lips are pliant under hers. She leans back just enough to reply, their foreheads pressed together and his puffs of breath against her lips. "You."

"Me," Killian repeats, sounding dazed. "You like me, eh?"

Emma grins widely, pecking his lips again before scrunching her face in mock-distaste. "You're okay."

"Okay?" he echoes, smirking as he tugs her into his lap, legs still confined by the sheet she was draped in but still falling on either side of his hips. "Just okay, then."

She rolls her eyes, even if she arches just a little bit in his lap. "Seriously?"

"Let me show you how much I like you, Emma," Killian offers, hand pressing at her spine so she's even closer to him.

"Killian," Emma protests, moving off his lap as if to get up off the bed and holding the sheet against her chest. He just presses kisses along her neck, her shoulders, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist and her back against his chest. "We have to _get up_."

"And what's so pressing that we have to leave immediately, hm?" Killian challenges, beard scraping against her collar. Emma loves that, the feeling of his stubble against her skin, hates how much she loves it and hates how much he _knows_ it. She sighs, leaning back against him. "Give me fifteen minutes, love."

"Fifteen?" she echoes, raising her eyebrows curiously as she turns her head around to face him. "Really?"

'

"You won't believe what I can do with limited time," he grins broadly, pressing a wet kiss to her cheek. "But, of course, it's up to you…"

She turns around to kiss him fully, disregarding the sheet wrapped around her and wrapping her arms around his neck.

It turns into more like thirty minutes, but that's more of Emma's fault.

-/-

It's a much less awkward morning-after breakfast, this time around.

The tavern is quiet with only a few people milling about, and it's easy to settle at a table tucked away from everything else. They sit side by side, tucked into the seat until she's practically in his lap. The affection comes easier, now, feels more natural. He makes it easy, with the soft eyes and broad grin he offers her as soon as they sit down. She grins against his shoulder as she presses a quick kiss to it.

They're sleepy and happy and enamored, a combination that has them both behaving like the two devoted lovers they used to pretend to be for suspicious shop owners.

It's nice, she has to admit.

(Emma never had this, not really. There was Baelfire and kisses stolen between pieces of coin and cheap gemstones, but this - this feels realer, somehow. She isn't seventeen anymore and it leaves her feeling more settled, less restless. Killian leaves her feeling less restless.)

(If she let herself think about it for too long, it'd be terrifying.)

A few guards linger by the doorway and she seizes up involuntarily, frowning. She left her sword upstairs, thinking she wouldn't need it just going down to breakfast, and she's beginning to sorely regret it. Fighting guards off is a hell of a lot harder without a weapon to defend yourself with.

They walk closer and closer to their table, talking amongst themselves, and Killian murmurs something unintelligible into her ear. Emma turns her head to face him, confused.

"What?"

"I said kiss me, Swan," he repeats, voice still in a whisper as his hand tightens on her back.

"Here?" she says questioningly, face scrunching.

Killian sighs dramatically. "No one wants to interrupt a couple in the midst of a public display affection, now do they?"

Emma thinks back to the guards, now rapidly approaching, and nods before surging forward to kiss him. It's not the most consuming and passionate gesture, more like lips bumping clumsily against each other thanks to the uncomfortable feeling of the guards' watchful eyes, but they continue on - breaths rasping and tongues sliding - until Killian leans back.

"They're gone," he murmurs into her ear.

She breathes a sigh of relief.

"That relieved to be separated from me, Swan?" he teases, but the words hold no more malice than his broad grin does.

Emma pecks his lips again, just for good measure. "We're not armed at this exact moment. I don't like being defenseless."

"Neither do I," he agrees, brushing a lock of her hair away. "But I suppose so long as we're together, we're not quite so defenseless."

Emma can't hold back the smile.

She takes a swig of the orange juice on the table - it's hardly in season, the fact that the inn managed to have it is honestly baffling - and licks her lips. "You want any?" she proffers the glass to him, holding it out for him to take.

His hand remains at the curve of her waist.

"I already had plenty to drink this morning," Killian supplies, winking at her.

The man still can't wink, which she finds more and more endearing. Both eyes always close and it never fails to make her amused. "I don't remember you drinking anything-"

He raises his eyebrows, as if waiting for her to catch on. Emma nearly chokes when it clicks.

"Right. Got it."

"You're blushing," he grins, pressing a kiss to one of her pink cheeks.

Emma just shakes her head before she drinks her juice. "You're terrible."

Killian just smirks, eyebrows raising impishly as he curls his fingers around her waist. He opens his mouth to reply, but Emma doesn't give him a chance.

"And I swear if you say that's not what I said ten minutes ago, I will hurt you."

He laughs, at that, the sound deep and full in a way that warms her insides. She can't suppress her own answering laugh, but settles for burying her head in the crook of his shoulder instead.

-/-

They get to the next village, but by the time they do it's dark as night.

"Don't suppose you'd like to traverse the various alleys of the square to find the nearest helpless person?" Killian supplies as they walk through, hand in hand. Emma snorts and the exhale lingers in a cloud of hot air against cold, barely visible in the illumination of the lanterns. "Perhaps an ailing grandmother with a missing bird?"

"I'm exhausted," she admits, letting her head droop to his shoulder. "And I think I'm starting to sniffle, a little bit."

"You're sick?" he asks, concerned, as he stops in the middle of the street. His hand quickly comes up to her face, eyes searching her for any evidence of an ailment.

Emma just rolls her eyes. "It's winter and we've been in it all day, Killian. I don't think it's that weird for me to be a little red nosed."

She taps the tip of his nose to prove her point, evidently finding redness there, as well. Killian blinks, surprised by the gesture, and she can only grin back at him. He's filled with a rush of affection for her, delighted to see another facet of the constant enigma that is Emma Swan.

"See?" she supplies, widening her arms as if to challenge him on it. "I'm fine. Now let's go find an inn."

It's hard not to follow her commands, her cheeks pink and her eyes shining with mirth. As captivating and enchanting as Emma has always been - whether she was holding a blade to his throat or playing with a little girl's hair - there's something about this side of her in particular that makes him ache in all of the best ways. Happiness is a fitting look for her, the lightness of her teasing and the width of her smile making his heart swell.

He'll do anything to make sure her happiness lingers for quite a while.

-/-

They collapse in bed without much preamble, both of them too tired to do much else. Killian falls asleep with his head buried in her hair and his arms clasped around her waist. He wakes up in much the same manner, though this time the room is filled with the sound of harsh coughs and she's shaking in his arms.

She pulls herself out of his arms before he can so much as react, sitting up and bending her head forward as she coughs into her arm.

Killian frowns, fingers probing at her back. He has to wait for the coughing to stop, has to wait for her to be so much as _able_ to respond or hear, before he can say a word. "Darling, come here."

"It's fine-"

He isn't receptive to her dismal, scooting forward until he's close enough for her to lean back on. Which she does, and his arms snake around her to keep her back pressed against his chest.

"Emma," he murmurs, forehead pulled together in concern as he presses a kiss to her neck. "What's wrong, love?"

"I," she sneezes, forcefully. "I'm fine. Just feeling a little under the weather, is all."

"You are not fine," he argues, but the argument tells itself once she starts coughing again.

It's even worse, this time, it lasts longer and it sounds like she's hurting. He's hurting, to see her like this, sick and miserable and helpless. Killian skims his blunted arm along her back in what he hopes is a soothing motion, letting her get it out. His hand keeps her hair pulled back from her face, just in case the coughing escalates. He can't imagine her wanting to cough into her hair, at any rate. He's trying to do the small things, the things can can do, so he doesn't feel quite so helpless.

It's just a cough, but he can't help but feel in pain when she is.

She finally stops, after what feels like two full minutes.

"Fuck," she rasps, wiping at her eyes a little blearily. "This sucks."

"Aye," he agrees, as she turns in his lap so he can nearly cradle her. Her head rests on his shoulder, her legs slung around his hips. Killian holds her to him. Emma feels clammy, feverish, in his arms and the thought makes him worry. "It does. Feel better, Swan. Get some rest."

She manages to go back to sleep, though it seems restless. Killian does, too, but his is almost just as restless.

-/-

It starts again, just a few hours later.

"I'm so," she coughs, the sound raucous and harsh. He can hear the breath whirring in her lungs and he just holds her tighter, pressing a kiss into her temple and shuddering along with her. "Cold."

"That's the fever, love," he says, voice taut and desperately, desperately trying not to break. He grabs the blankets from beside them, doing his best to drape them over her without disturbing the way she's situated on his chest.

Emma shivers, again, clinging to his shirt. "I was hot. Now I'm cold."

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs into her hair, rocking her from side to side in his arms. "I'm so sorry, darling."

"Nothing," Emma mutters, her teeth chattering, and she tries again. It's difficult for her to compose herself enough to speak, he can tell. His stomach is in knots."Nothing to be sorry about, not your fault."

-/-

It's a series of dreadful, awful, dozes. Eventually, he gives up on sleeping, even if she manages it it brief doses. He can't stand to do it while she suffers, the thought keeping him awake and alert.

This time, when she coughs, she tries sliding off of him. Killian frowns, arms tightening around her and keeping her in place, waiting for her to explain. Emma just slides back, blonde head back against his chest. "Are you hot, love? I can find some cool water, perhaps, put some wet rags on your-"

"Killian," she murmurs, voice weak and low. "Killian, you can't stay here."

"Bloody hell I can't," he protests, nuzzling further into the crown of her head. "I'm not leaving you, Emma. Where am I supposed to go when you're this sick?"

"Anywhere," Emma replies, coughing into his shirt in spite of herself. "You could get sick too."

"I don't bloody well care."

"We can't," she rasps. "We can't both be sick."

"We won't be," he tells her.

Emma sighs, not eager to accept this as an answer. Another round of coughing starts.

"Do you think…" he trails off, holding her tighter. She's drenched in sweat and he's been trying to keep her drinking water, keep her hydrated, but it's proving to be of no use. The fever burns it right back up. "You healed my arm, Emma, do you think you could-"

"Heal myself?" she asks, voice cracking. "I don't think so. That was," she coughs, again, and the noise sounds so painful he cringes. "A fluke. And it's always easier to heal someone else than to heal yourself. Ingrid, she...she taught me that."

Emma coughs again, this time even more violently, and he just holds her to his chest and lets her cough into his shirt, his hand rubbing circles into her back in a motion he hopes is soothing. He stays with his back against the bed, because it's easier for her like this. Laying horizontally seems to agitate her lungs more, is a nigh-guarantee for more coughing. Propping her up like this, her head on his chest, seems to help her.

Killian presses a kiss into her hair, a deep frown marring his face. "You need to sleep, love."

"I'm trying," she hiccups, frustration palpable in her voice to the point it almost sounds pleading. Emma coughs once more into her hand and he can see the streak of scarlet it leaves on her pale skin. She's coughing up blood, now, and it scares the bloody hell out of him.

(His mother coughed up blood, too, before she passed.)

Emma's lips press together at the sight, and he knows she must be thinking the same thing he is. It's hardly ever a good sign when this happens, almost a death sentence if it does.

"It's alright, love," he reassures her, though he feels anything but alright. Killian tries to keep his voice level, tries not to let it waver, but his words sound distorted. This is not fine, will never be fine, unless she makes a miraculous recovery.

Emma nods, though her eyes are doubtful and glistening. She burrows her head back in his shoulder, her tears wet and stinging against his skin.

Killian just holds her tighter, tries to soothe her in any way he can. He doesn't understand how things could have gotten this bad so quickly, how she could have gone from healthy and smiling one moment to weak and ill the next. It's an illness that's getting worse every second, and he's beginning to worry that the next time he wakes up, he won't find her alive.

(It's a ludicrous fear, he knows how strong she is, but the blood and the speed of everything and - he _can't_ lose her. The thought is unthinkable.)

He stays up with her the entire night.

-/-

By the time morning filters through the window, he's had enough. Killian can't stand to see her in so much pain, can't stand to be so helpless. Killian is a man of action, he has to do something. He won't watch Emma waste away in his arms, he refuses to.

Emma is in a state of limbo, half awake and half conscious, so he brushes his lips against her temple and strokes his hand in her hair after he dresses, bending at her bedside. "I'll be right back, sweetheart," Killian promises her, hand coming down to wrap around hers. It feels frighteningly limp in his grasp.

The coughs have mainly subsided, but left a listlessness to her that makes fear pang in his heart.

The blood on her hand...he'll never be able to get the sight out of his head.

She nods, eyes barely slitted open and the shade of green sickly. "Okay."

"Right back," he emphasizes again, squeezing her hand in his. He's finding it difficult to let go of it, fearful if he takes too long to get back to her. Killian won't have this be the last feeling he has of her, the last touch they share.

She has to get through this.

Emma's eyes fall shut, her breath coming in short pants. "Okay," she mumbles again, but it sounds even fainter. The weaker she gets, he knows, the harder it's going to be for her to fight this off.

He feels like he's drowning, watching her deteriorate this quickly.

"Emma?" he asks, hand skimming along her cheek. She doesn't respond, this time, and her eyes are closed. Her face is pallid and damp with sweat, the life gone from her cheeks. Killian holds back his panic as he trails his hand down to her neck, feeling with his fingers for her heartbeat.

He holds his breath.

It's there, but it's sluggish. His heart feels like it's slowing down right along with hers.

-/-

Killian, after some searching, finds an odd apothecary shop with an even odder proprietor. Killian is in such a hurry, a race against time, that he doesn't find himself bloody caring about how damn personable the man is. All he knows is that he's advertizing cures for sickness. And if there's anything he desperately, desperately needs - it's a cure.

"Victor Frankenstein," the man introduces himself, holding his hand out for Killian to take as he stomps into the place. "How may I help you-"

"You're a healer, yes?" Killian asks pointedly, not wanting to waste a second of his time.

"Well-"

"I need you to help me, there's a woman who needs your help," Killian paces along the width of the floor, motions agitated. "Tell me you can help me."

"I'm not a healer," Victor says with a heavy sigh. "I am, however, a doctor."

"A doctor?" Killian asks, brows raising in disbelief. "What bloody use is that? I want a woman healed, not a limb cauterized," his eyes go down to his prosthetic hand meaningfully. "I've had plenty of experience with doctors, mate. Give me a healer."

Victor rolls his eyes. "I don't just cauterize limbs. Actually, I have _never_ cauterized a limb. Potions have their uses, too, and science-"

"A woman, she's sick, has a terrible cough and a high fever. She's getting weaker by the minute. I need to know you can save her, mate. I don't have time for a bloody biography - either tell me you can help me or direct me towards a damn healer."

Victor sighs heavily. "Bring me to her. I'll have a look at her and see what I can do."

-/-

When they walk into the room, Emma opens her eyes blearily at the new figure, still looking pale and sickly in bed. He's grateful she's conscious, at least. The sleep deprivation isn't something he wants for her, but as weak as she is -

Killian is worried she may not wake up if she goes to sleep. Sickness acts quickly, too quickly, and as suddenly as she transformed from perfectly fine to deathly ill it's a matter of concern.

"Who are you?" she asks, eyes clouded and curling up into herself.

"I'm a doctor, Victor Fr-" Victor says quickly, before Killian cuts him off.

"He's here to help you, love," Killian assures her, walking up to approach her side. He nearly takes her hand in hers and kneels at her bedside, but Victor makes a disapproving noise.

"I wouldn't advise having that much contact with her," Victor says, holding up a hand in protest. "Her disease could be very contagious."

Killian snorts in derision. "I've managed closer these past hours and I feel fine. What I don't understand," he begins, voice rising as he marches towards the doctor. His temper is ragged, thanks to Emma's condition and his rapidly increasing worry. "Is why the bloody hell I'm standing here asking you not to worry about me instead of you ensuring she'll live through the morning!"

Victor frowns, not phased in the least by the show of temper. "I...You have to know I can't guarantee that."

Killian rattles a nearby dresser, nearly knocking it over in his temper. "Then you damn well better tell me where the nearest healer is so I don't have to waste my time. Or waste hers, which is infinitely more precious at the moment. Now, stop being a useless git and either help her or get me a person who can."

Emma whimpers at the noise from the bed. Killian's anger deflates, at that, staggering backwards to prop himself up on the dresser so he can still stand."Please," he begs, eyes falling shut and voice breaking. "Just help her."

Victor keeps his voice low. "By the time you can get to a Healer, she'll be dead. I have a potion that might work. But I...you can't get your hopes up."

"My hopes are all I have," Killian grits out raggedly. "They're all she has. If this potion you speak of hurts her in any way…"

"If I wanted to kill her, I wouldn't have to give her a potion," Victor states, frankly. "I'd just have to wait for it to happen by itself come morning."

He deflates. His shoulders hunch and all the breath goes out of his body.

Killian can't stop imagining it, finding her cold and stiff in that bed. Killian trying to shake her awake and failing. Never seeing her smile, hearing her laugh, feeling her skin again. No more would he be able to hold her, fight at her side, tease her. Emma would be dead and it would be his fault.

He lost his mother, sick and ailing, while he waited on her bedside. Killian wouldn't last through it happening with Emma, his hope and light and all of the other bloody things that make him want to be good, be better, be the sort of man she deserves.

He'd do whatever it takes to save her from a fate that's befallen so many people he's loved. Killian has been a poison all his life - for his mother and Liam and Milah - but he won't let this happen to her. He can't let this happen to her.

"Give me the potion," he exhales raggedly, looking up to face the doctor. "Please."

Victor pulls it out of his bag, a small purple substance in a glass vial. Killian takes it, giving him a grateful nod before walking over to her bedside.

Killian props her up with his arm, bringing his hand to her chin and cupping it. "Emma? Emma, can you hear me?"

She nods, sluggishly, and he allows himself a brief moment of relief.

"Do you know who I am?"

"O'c'rse," she slurs, her words running together as she barely manages to pry her glassy eyes open. "You're Killian. You're...mine."

Killian palms a lock of hair behind her ear, grinning despite himself as he presses his forehead to hers. He won't lose her when she's just starting to let him in. Killian refuses to. "Yes, darling, all yours. Do you reckon you could do a favor for me, hm?"

Emma nods, again.

"Good, good, love," he grabs the potion as Victor hands it over. "Do you think you could drink this for me?"

Her face upturns at the smell of it, admittedly unfortunate, and she shakes her head.

"Please," he pressures, bringing it to her lips. "It'll make you better, sweetheart, please drink it. I can't...Swan, please," his pleas turn more desperate, choking up around the words. "I can't lose you. This could be your only shot, darling, please. Everyone needs you. I need you, Emma."

Emma relents, attempting to grab the flask herself with a shaking hand until Killian gently brings it back down, holding the flask to her lips himself. She drinks it, a sour expression on her face, but meets his eyes all the while. He tips the flask to let her swallow the very last drop,

"S'gross," she murmurs as he casts it aside. He chuckles, the sound rough and hoarse enough in his ears. Emma hums lightly as Killian shifts to her side, letting her head fall to his chest and her fingers embed themselves in the fabric of his vest.

"I know," he murmurs softly, his hand running over her long, light hair. "I know, Swan. But you'll feel better once you wake up."

Emma nods, groaning. Her hand tightens on his vest. "When I wake up," she repeats, hazily. "I'll feel better."

Killian presses her hair back from her face, but she's already fast asleep by the time he does. His hand skims over her forehead and he can already feel it gradually cooling under his touch. He looks up at Victor, then, gratefulness in his eyes.

"Did it work?" Victor asks, letting his gaze fall on the two of them. Before it was directed studiously on the floor to grant the pair some semblance of privacy.

"Her fever," Killian explains, a sigh of relief leaving his body. "I think it's starting to fade."

"That's good news," Victor says.

"I have gold," Killian offers, running his hand through Emma's tangled curls. "I could pay you."

Victor shakes his head. "It's...keep it. You must really love her, you know?"

Killian opens his mouth to reply (to deny) but no sound comes out. Instead, he just nods, Emma fast asleep on top of him. "Aye. I do."

"Plus," Victor adds with a knowing smile. "It would be pretty shitty of me to let the Savior die."

Killian gapes. "How did you-"

Victor motions to the bedside table, where his hook rests. "Captain Hook and the Savior, I've heard enough about. You can consider this repaying the favor."

"Thank you," he tells the man sincerely, squeezing Emma in his arms. "Thank you, doctor."

Victor gives him one last nod before he leaves the room.

-/-

Emma wakes up a few hours later,

Killian laughs breathlessly as soon as she does, his hand coming up to cup the side of her face. "You gave me quite the scare, darling."

Emma is still covered in sweat, though the color is returning to her face. "I'm sorry," she replies sleepily, nuzzling further into him. She feels warm and safe, his heartbeat a steady rhythm under her ear, and all she wants to do is sleep some more. She feels absolutely exhausted. Emma can hardly even remember a lot of the night before, lost in the haze of sickness.

"Never apologize," he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'm just happy you're alright, Swan. I don't know what I'd do if-"

The ending to that sentence hangs in the air.

Emma falls back asleep before she can think about a reply.

-/-

Killian wakes her up again to tell her he's going out to get something, for a little bit, that he'll be back soon. The sentence rings familiar and she hopes that he's able to tell the doctor, whatever his name was - she can't remember - thank you for saving her life on her behalf.

Emma figures they owe him that much. She'd do it herself, offer to go with him, but she feels...well, she feels a lot like death. Which may have been nearly accurate, for a little while there. Weeks ducking swords and an Evil Queen's best advances and she's almost done in by a cough. Irony, thy name is Emma Swan.

She takes a bath while Killian is gone, ready to wash the sickness and grime off of her. He must have done the same, given his hair was wet when he brushed his lips against her forehead in a goodbye.

(She could think about the kiss, think about the way he stayed, think about the blurry memory of him insisting to stay with her even if he may have gotten sick himself. Emma doesn't know what to do with any of it, though, and her mind is hardly in the best of conditions. So, she does what she does best, and tries to ignore it.)

When Killian gets back to the room, he's wearing something different. His coat is still draped over his form, but the leather pants look a bit different, the shirt he's wearing is more grey than black, and his red vest replaced with a dark velvet one.

"Wardrobe change?" Emma asks, sitting up to face him. The sleep made her feel a hell of a lot better, between that and the potion she nearly feels human again.

"I brought gifts," he lifts up the clothes draped over his arm, depositing it in her lap. "Thought it best, for health, if we alternate clothing. Give us time to wash our old things, I don't want you catching that sickness again."

"How have we not run out of gold yet?" Emma's face pinches together in confusion, even as she runs her hands over the new attire. They can wash what they were wearing before, maybe, if the next inn has a basin and they can improvise a clothesline in the room they sleep in. "Between the inns and the taverns and the clothes, it's a wonder we haven't. I've been so busy with all the Regina stuff I didn't even think about it."

"Resupplied on the Jolly Roger," Killian shrugs. "Some things Blackbeard needed a hook to get into, you know."

"And before then?" Emma raises her eyebrows. "There is no way we didn't almost run out before then."

"Pirate, love," he supplies, wiggling his eyebrows. "The guards are often foolish enough to keep their gold in their pockets."

"You pickpocketed guards?" Emma asks, stunned. "What would have happened if they noticed, chased after you-"

"They weren't capable of much chasing, to be fair," he shrugs innocuously.

Emma catches up to what he means. "Robbing guards we fight? Really?"

"They do continuously try to kill us," Killian points out.

The thought makes her think, for a moment. She stands up from the bed, taking the change of clothes with her as she mulls it over. Emma quickly unbuttons the vest she's wearing and lifts her shirt over her head. He's seen it all already, she's not going to ask him to leave just so she can change. Killian's eyes linger on her chest and she rolls her eyes as she puts the new shirt on. He walks forward to button the vest himself as soon as she threads her arms through it, and she shakes her head fondly.

"I can button it," she tells him, stating the obvious.

Killian's fingers are nimble - this she knows intimately by now - and he finishes his handiwork in no time. He leans back to look at her, hand settling at the curve of her waist. "I know you can, love. I just…" Killian trails off, looking uncharacteristically somber and at loss for the right words.

Emma's hand comes to curl around his neck and she looks up at him questioningly. "What's wrong?"

Vest-buttoning shouldn't be causing this much angst. But, Emma knows it's about more than the vest.

"I almost lost you," he tells her carefully, doing his best to keep his voice level. She doesn't have the heart to tell him he's failing in that effort. "You were dying in my arms and there was nothing I could do. I just need...I just need to feel you, do something so I know you're here with me."

Emma's lips press together. She searches for words she can't find, mouth opening and closing.

She settles for kissing him instead, mouth sliding over his. He reciprocates fully, desperately, and she can't find it within herself to complain. The contact reminds her of something, the desperation in his touch too.

Emma can try ignoring all she wants, but that doesn't mean she'll succeed.

"How did you not get sick?" Emma ponders, face scrunching as she leans backwards. "You were holding me the entire time, I coughed on you, we were...together that morning."

"Perhaps 200 years does wonders for a man's health," Killian offers. "I could have built up quite an immunity to various strains of disease, lass."

Emma frowns, not accepting that explanation. "It doesn't make any sense for me to be deathly ill and you to be completely fine."

Killian mulls it over for a moment, expression thoughtful. "I don't know…I was too worried about you to think about it."

Her mind goes back to the tavern that morning, the guards that loitered by their table. She drank the juice at breakfast. Killian didn't.

"Regina poisoned me," Emma realizes grimly. "The juice - the guards could have poisoned it while we...they could have slipped something in when they walked past us."

"Too much of cowards to fight you properly, then?" Killian grits out, his hand tightening on her waist.

"I wouldn't put it past them," Emma frowns, looking up at him with a quick realization. "All it would have taken is a moment of distraction."

Killian frowns, holding his hand out for her to take. It's meant to be a gesture of comfort, she knows. "Bloody, hell, love. I suppose we're lucky we found the antidote."

Emma stares at his hand, for a moment, and she realizes something.

"We were distracted," Emma says, biting her lip as she keeps her hands steady at her sides. She can't meet his eyes. "We were distracted, that's why we weren't on our guard."

Killian's face falls at the realization. "Swan…"

"What happens next time when there isn't a cure?" she asks pointedly. "What happens when it's you with a sword through your back because I ruin your focus?"

That's the reason why they decided not to do this, before. Just because it feels right, feels good, doesn't mean it is. It doesn't mean it's not hurting the mission, hurting what they're trying to do. They wasted two days just trying to keep her alive. There's no telling what else they could waste just because they decide to be obliviously infatuated with each other.

Emma should know better. The thought stings her.

"We should…" Emma steps backwards, away from him and the shattered look on his face and how much she hates herself for this no matter how necessary it is. "We should take a beat."

"A beat?" he repeats, stilted.

"A beat," Emma says, trying to convince herself. She crosses her arms around herself, protecting herself and wishing she could protect him, too. Protect him from this look on his face, protect him from her own defensiveness and what they need to do.

They should have never done this in the first place, tried to reach for what they couldn't have. It was stupid to think they could. Killian walks forward carefully, his steps slow until they get to where she is - cornered against the wall. Emma exhales shakily, closing her eyes, and it's only his touch on her cheek that brings her back. Her eyes flicker open to meet his, hesitantly, and his eyes search her face for an indication of what to do.

"You don't think we should have tried this in the first place, do you?" he asks carefully. "The two of us together."

Emma's mouth parts, tears welling up in her eyes because this sucks, it hurts, and she wishes there was another way but there isn't. She leans into his touch in spite of herself. "I want this," she tells him sincerely. "I do. But I can't…"

"How long are you going to deny yourself what you want, Emma?" Killian says the words softly, slowly, and she can feel the understanding in them. "You deserve to be happy, Emma," his thumb skims along the length of her cheek, following a tear that spills from her eyes. "Let me make you happy."

His voice breaks and her heart does, too. "I want to make you happy, too," she tells him, but her tone makes it clear she doesn't think she can. Not like this, not right now. The timing isn't right, the mission ahead of them is too important.

Killian makes it so easy to cave in, to let her guard down, to feel safe.

But she _can't_.

"But we can't," she murmurs, refusing to cave in and hug him, tuck her chin on his shoulder, like she wants to. His hand is still at her face, still touching her like he never wants to stop.

"Why?" he asks her, finally. Killian's gaze is too insistent and it burns, as does his hand on her cheek. It burns because she has to lose it, now, has to let him go. Has to try to return to what they were before, maybe go their separate ways and send him back to his ship if that doesn't work.

Emma can't lose him because she's too distracted, can't let this become a problem.

"We let ourselves get too caught up in each other," Emma tries, as if saying the words will help them settle better. They don't.

Killian stares at her for one, long moment. She wonders if he's making his peace with it, if he's about to step away. Emma tries to steel herself for it, squares her shoulders and exhales. She needs him to say this, needs him to step back, needs him to -

She wants him to stay with her. But he can't, not like this.

Killian leans even closer to her and she knows he'll stay, anyway. It's a thought that fills her with equal parts relief and worry.

"I think you're afraid to let yourself be happy, Emma," he explains to her slowly, tangling his fingers in her hair. "And what happened here makes it easier for you to pretend to go back to what we had before, pretend that it's necessary for you to be safe, pretend that your walls are what's keeping you from harm. But listen to me, Swan, they're not."

Emma opens her mouth to argue with him, to tell him that this wouldn't have happened if they hadn't been so enamored with each other that morning, but he rebuffs the words before she can say them.

"It would have happened with or without how we feel about each other," he murmurs. "The guards could have poisoned you even if we were set on ignoring each other, that's a distraction in its own right. They'd have poisoned me, too, and we'd both be dead. If you pushed me away more when I tried to help you...I don't know if I could have gotten the cure in time. I care about you so damn much that I was desperate to save you and I _did_. And you, you healed me without even trying."

Killian holds up his arm as evidence, dragging up his coat and shirt sleeve. Emma's eyes flicker to the healed skin, biting her lip.

He's right. She knows he's right, know this is just her defense mechanism kicking in and making her think that things will be better if she's miserable. Emma is confusing masochism and focus - but this is the only thing she knows. She cuts herself off from people, didn't even let Ingrid all the way in, because she's been let down so many times. By the villagers who took her in as a child, by her romantic partners, by everyone who promised her the world and failed to deliver.

It left her feeling open and raw. Emma feels safer, whether that's false or not, closed off.

She's an open book to him, and Killian reads her the pages. "But your mind is disregarding all of that, all the times we've saved each other and lived because of just how well we work together. Those walls make you feel like they won't, like you're safer isolating yourself."

It's not fair, really, that he can see through her like this.

"It's what I know," she manages, finally, as his hand settles back on her chin. "This is what I know. I know that I can't get hurt, like this."

"You're not safer, Swan, just guarding yourself. We're stronger together," Killian tells her, nose brushing against hers. His eyes are fierce, his gestures soft. "It's time to stop running."

Emma swallows, lips pressing together. "You think I don't know that? Yes, I run away. That's how I always survived. But, believe me, I want this to work. But I don't know how I can do that and keep doing what I'm meant to, I don't know how I can do that and keep _you_ safe."

"You're worried about keeping me safe?" he replies in disbelief.

"Every second you're with me, you're in danger. If...I need you to be able to leave me if you need to, if that's what you need to do," Emma explains, her head throbbing and her heart aching. "You could have died if that sickness was contagious, Killian."

"And you _would have_ died if I weren't able to get you the cure."

"Killian-"

"No," he protests passionately, stepping until they're toe to toe and nose to nose. "No, Swan, you're not pushing me away to keep me safe. You're pushing me away because you're afraid of trusting me, isn't that it? You think, you almost _want_ me to leave you like all the rest. That's what's comfortable for you. That's what's safe. We're both alive because of each other, these past weeks have more than proved that. This is about you running away from things you're afraid of making you happy."

He went from reading directly from the pages to giving her a bad translation. Emma frowns, her brow furrowing. "You think this is about me not trusting you?"

"Isn't it?"

"Of course I trust you!" Emma exclaims, lifting her hands in a frustrated gesture. "It's…"

"What is it, love?" Killian asks finally, his voice tenuous and desperate. "Please, just tell me. Tell me what it is."

Emma sighs, closing her eyes. She fingers where her necklace hangs around her neck before opening them again. "I was in love, before, when I was seventeen. I ran away from Ingrid's and met him. We spent months just pickpocketing, running around the kingdom without a care in the world. He left me in a dungeon after we stole some pocket watches."

Killian listens carefully and frowns. "I just told you I would never leave-"

"Knowing that Regina's guards nearly killed me, could have killed you was a reminder of that. How happy I was with you, am with you, reminds me of that. And the reminder that the second...the second I let my guard down like that, it all goes to hell. It was one thing when I just ended up in a dungeon for the night and Ingrid was able to get me out. It's another if it ends in Regina killing everyone I care about, including you."

Killian stares at her for a moment, expression careful and eyes flitting across her face. He moves his hand from her face to his neck, lifting a chain of his own from it. He dangles it in front of her. "Know what this is?"

Emma looks at it in confusion. "A ring?"

"We both carry our reminders," Killian tells her wryly. "I'm a bit of a survivor, love, if you haven't noticed. This ring is why. I've had it for many years. It's the reason I'm alive. Or it could be. Who knows? Point is…"

He trails off, depositing the chain back over his neck. Emma doesn't know how to reply.

"You don't have to worry about me. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's surviving," Killian's lips twitch and he carefully pulls her hand in his. He presses a kiss to her palm reverently and his eyes burn on hers. Her throat goes dry. "Let down your walls, love, and let's survive together."

Emma thinks of the times they've stopped a guard from hurting the other, the times they've fought for each other. She thinks of the cave, the cut, and the cure. Emma stares at him for a moment, searchingly.

There's not one word he's said that he didn't mean.

Her hand tightens in his as he presses it against his chest, against his heart.

"This isn't…" she manages to rasp out. "This isn't easy for me."

"I know."

"I'm still scared and worried and…it's so hard to want things you can never have. It's so _hard_."

"You can't spend your life telling yourself you can never have what you want, Emma," Killian murmurs, forehead pressing against hers.

Emma sighs. "I know."

"So what do you want, Emma?" he questions, prosthetic settling at the base of her spine and pulling her closer. "Whatever you want, darling, I'll give it to you."

"You," she rasps, just like she did that first night they spent together, really spent together. He stripped her bare in more ways than one and Emma thinks she did the same for him. The 'one time thing' comment was just another way of shutting him out, of making this easier. But it didn't make it easier, it just made everything harder. And maybe it's time she stops making things so difficult for herself, it's time she lets herself hope. Hope for things she can never have and maybe some things she _can_.

Emma thought, for the longest time, that Killian fell into the first category. It even lingered in the back of her mind after they decided to be together, brought to the forefront by the latest events. But he tells her it's the second and she wants, she wants to believe him.

"I just want you," she murmurs against his lips, once they're just close enough to brush.

"You have me," Killian promises, just as he leans forward to kiss her. He kisses her fully, arms wrapping around her and tightening as her arms go around his neck. Emma leans forward on her tiptoes, desperate for this and him and more.

Her hands are pressing the coat off of his shoulders before she can think better of it, needing to feel him. She maps the planes of his chest with her hands, skimming up and down the velvet fabric of his vest. Killian moans against her lips, hand coming up to the collar of her jacket to pull her impossibly closer to him.

"I found a potion," he mutters, nearly incoherently, against her lips. "While I was out, after I got the clothes, at the apothecary's," she trails her lips down to his neck and sucks, hard, and he groans. "I paid Victor a little too much for it, because the damn git wouldn't let me give him gold without buying something."

"What kind of potion?"

"Similar to what you've consumed before, I was told," he manages.

Emma catches onto his meaning easily. "Oh."

-/-

After she drinks the potion - this one much less life threatening - they have each other's clothing off within seconds. They don't even bother with foreplay, so insistent in their need to take and want and have. Emma is already so wet, it doesn't matter, and he's nearly inside of her the second they're stripped.

Emma exhales as soon as he's all of the way inside of her, a long, shaky sound, and it's music to his ears.

Killian can't believe he's almost lost this, lost her. His hand trails down from her waist, settling at her hip to keep a steady balance. She's so wet and tight around him that he burns, can feel his own fever trailing up from the base of his spine to where his cock spreads her open.

"You're so beautiful," he encourages, voice guttural. He holds her like he never wants to let go, thrusts into her like he'll never be given the chance to again. "Do you know how beautiful you are, love? I'll tell you every day, I'll tell you all of the things you are-"

She cuts him off with a kiss, surging forward to knot her fingers in his hair, but he continues once her head is back on the bed. "You feel so good around me, darling, so tight. I never want to leave, just want to stay here."

Emma groans, lifting her hips to meet his and she feels so small, so fragile when he knows her to be anything but. The experience of seeing her, wilting away in his arms like the damned flower she has tattooed on her wrist, has him desperate. His thrusts are sloppy and quick, shallow and - gods, but he just wants to feel _her._

She just encourages him, the soles of her feet digging into the curve of his arse. Her hands clamor at his back. "Please, Killian, please, c'mon. I want to -" she hiccups at one long, delightful drag of his cock against her clit. He's so desperate, so haphazard he didn't manage to thrust all the way back inside of her. "Deeper, please, harder. Don't be delicate, please, I just want to feel you."

Treating her like anything less than precious treasure, like the finest of gold, like all the jewels in the sea is a thought he loudly, internally protests. But he can't think about that, not when she's begging for it like this and she feels like this around him. Not when he can feel how tight she is, when she moans when he adjusts his hips just right.

Killian moves his hands to spread her legs wider, adjusting one so it rests over his shoulder, and Emma groans. He snaps his hips back and thrusts, hard, hitting bottom. He arches over her as much as he can, letting her leg fall from his shoulder as he rests his arms on either side of her. Killian licks a long, wet stripe in the valley of her breasts and Emma's hands scrape his back.

He sets a hard, fast rhythm, hair clinging to his face with sweat. Emma just arches underneath him, keening and thrusting right back against him as much as the leverage of her feet on the bed will enable him to.

"Fuck," she grunts, back arching. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, you feel so good."

"Tell me how good it feels," he begs, voice ragged. "Tell me how good you feel, how much you want this."

Her breaths come out in short, shallow pants. "I just want this, I just want you. Gods, I want you so badly. I need you like this, Killian."

"You can have as much of me as you want," Killian promises raggedly, his hand coming down to where her clit is red and throbbing. He runs his fingers over it, back and forth, and her wetness just makes it all the easier. She's like this for him, she wants him. The thought arouses him almost as much of the feeling of her around his cock does. "I'll take whatever you're willing to give."

Killian runs his fingers over her clit and thrusts into her with rapid, dirty strokes. Emma finally comes, her arms tugging his head down and forcing it to rest on her shoulder as she comes down and rasps his name out for only him to hear. Her hand runs up and down his neck, but she moves jerkily under him as he continues his thrusts, slowing them down to make them fuller.

"More," he protests, lips trailing downwards sucking at the curve of her breast. "Sweetheart, please, can you take more?"

He's hard, so hard, but he can't come. Not like this. Not when he still has to feel her, not when he still has to know she's here and she isn't leaving. Killian wants her so badly, wants to keep her even more. Feeling her wilt in his arms, crying out his name and babbling curses as her arm snakes around his neck, is all the more proof.

"Let's switch," she replies, instead. "Let me be on top, okay? Let me take care of you, too, you've already taken care of me."

His eyes nearly roll into the back of his head at the thought, his cock still throbbing inside of her. "Love, that isn't necc-"

"Do you want me to tie you down?" she teases, leaning up to press kisses along his jawline. "Or would you just be into that?"

-/-

They aren't helping the sleepless thing. And the wardrobe change, at the moment, is pointless when their clothes are just a puddle on the floor.

(They didn't do the rope, not today. Killian is good with knots, though, as he promised from years on a ship. Maybe another day. She still came three more times until she ached, was nearly shaking in his arms when he finally followed her over the edge. They spent a few minutes just holding each other as they caught their breaths.)

His arms are around her waist, tucking her into him contentedly, and they almost fall back to sleep.

(The fact that they've wasted over a day in bed, either sick or having sex, is making her head hurt. They will definitely, definitely get out of here soon.)

"Did you mean it?" Emma asks, suddenly, right before they both begin to drift off.

Killian jerks, slightly, coming back from the edge of unconscious with slurred words. "Mean what?"

"When you told me that you wouldn't leave," she murmurs, sounding a little frail. Her fingers tighten on him as she cringes at herself, at the vulnerability she's revealing. He told her to take off her armor, but she isn't entirely comfortable with abandoning all of it yet. With him, though, it's easy to feel safe. "That you were a survivor. Did you mean that?"

He pauses. She worries, worries that she's come off as too needy, too desperate, that she never should have opened her mouth in the first place. Killian's arms just tighten around her for a beat before he speaks.

"Turn around," he encourages her, arms slipping from around her waist. Emma complies, twisting so that she now faces him. It's still light outside, nearly sunset, so he's easy to see. His eyes are light and his expression soft. His hand settles back at her waist.

He holds the ring back up to her eyes, once more. "You should have this."

Emma gapes at him. "Killian, I can't-"

He slips the necklace from around his neck, draping it over her head. "Please, love. Just take it. Suits you, can't you tell?"

Emma's hand comes up to finger the jewelry, expression furrowed. "It's that important to you, I can't take it."

"Not more important than you," Killian tells her. He tugs her back into his arms and she sighs. "And no, I'm not leaving you. As we have established. Repeatedly."

Emma smiles in spite of herself. "Can't blame a girl for checking."

"I like that you feel comfortable enough to ask," he admits, the words muffled by her shoulder "Tells me you feel safe enough to. I like it when you let your walls down around me, Swan. We don't have to mask with our banter forever, do we?"

She considers that, for a moment.

Emma isn't fond of sacrificing the back and forth. "Your feet are cold."

Killian laughs, "You just had a fever, so I think you're a bit biased."

"Seriously, though,' Emma manages, capturing one of his icicle feet with hers on either side of it. He rolls his eyes. "I just...I want you to feel safe with me, too. Like you can tell me what you need to. It's a two way exchange, isn't it?"

"Aye," he nods. "I suppose it is. And I do. You're an easy woman to feel safe around, Savior."

Emma shakes her head, a sleepy grin on her lips. "I'm glad."

They're asleep a few minutes later. It's uninterrupted until the next morning, much to the relief of both of them.


	15. Reunion

**A/N: Hey, happy Wednesday! I hope this chapter is a welcome addition to your midweek, I'm updating a little earlier in the day so there's that! I cannot emphasize enough how much feedback means to me and you guys have been so incredibly kind. Thank you so much. I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter!**

-/-

Sparring with guards is something they're used to, by now. Fighting in the forest may as well come as naturally as breathing, when all is said and done.

Having a random warrior woman emerge from the forest to fight at their side? A little strange. Given they've had to recalibrate what exactly strange is - or at least Emma has - over the past few weeks, she guesses she shouldn't be all that surprised. One second they're fighting off a few guards, the next the woman helps them fight them off in a matter of minutes.

She and Killian exchange confused expression once the last guard falls. The woman just swipes a strand of hair out of her face, breathing heavily from exertion. She doesn't offer an immediate explanation.

"Thanks for the help, lass," Killian offers, voice cautious as he sheaths his sword.

"Who are you?" Emma asks, looking perplexed at the woman's sudden appearance. She hears a wolf howl, seemingly from the bushes just feet from them, and jumps.

The woman gives her an apologetic smile before racing over to the bushes - right towards the apparently hidden wolf. Emma doesn't even know what to say. She doesn't even know where to _start_. "Give me one minute, Emma, I'll explain everything in a moment."

She'd ask how the woman knows her name, but that would be pointless. Apparently, her reputation precedes her. That, and the question of _'What the hell is going on?'_ seems more relevant at the moment. There's a rustling in the bushes - she swears she sees the woman drape a red cloak over them - and then there are _two_ women. Suddenly, everything makes sense.

"Told you I could change into a wolf," Red tells her, standing up and beaming. Emma can only blink back at her.

"You know each other?" Killian asks, leaning over to her ear and sounding understandably confused.

It takes her a minute to even think of a reply.

"Red - the um, wolf - is an old friend of my parents. She was the one that warned me and helped me run," Emma says, slightly dazed, before walking over to the other woman to embrace her. Red reciprocates readily, arms coming around her midsection as she grins. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"We could tell you were close," Red says quickly, back straightening as she leans away from her. "We could tell you were in the area, just a few paces from our camp. It's been a while since I've seen you, We just wanted to make sure you were okay, help you out a little if you needed it."

"You could tell?" Killian asks, confused.

"Magical compass," Red says, as if that helps matters.

Well, it helps Emma, not so much Killian. He can only blink in confusion before shaking his head in exasperation.

"Right, the compass that's been enchanted to point towards me," Emma responds, explaining more for Killian's benefit than hers. Her eyes go to the other woman with the armor of a warrior on who looks at Red with unrestrained affection. "You never did tell me who you were."

"My name is Mulan," she introduces herself, moving to take her hand as soon as Red retreats backwards. "It's an honor to meet you."

"You, too," Emma replies with a smile, shaking her hand. "I'm Emma, this is," she gestures to Killian, who looks as if he's desperately trying to blend into the background. As much as he may pretend to crave attention, he doesn't enjoy it any more than she does. That, and he still seems incredibly perplexed by the situation."This is Killian."

Killian masks it well before he walks forward to take Mulan's hand, bowing exaggeratedly in front of her. "Pleasure to meet you, lass."

"Mulan," she replies, nodding. "You as well."

Red's eyes light up with interest. "Captain Hook, huh? I thought I heard you were traveling together."

"Aye," Killian answers, hand coming up to scratch behind his ear in what Emma recognizes as a nervous tic. "That would be me. And you're Red, then?"

He holds his hand out for her to take, jaw twitching anxiously. Emma watches the exchange carefully. She knows Killian is hardly proud of his reputation, considers it more of a tragic necessity than a hard-earned glory, and she hopes the women can accept that, too. Luckily, Red is genial in a way that's nearly infectious. It's the same attitude that made it easier - as easy as it could be - to run all those weeks ago.

"I am," Red says, smiling and holding her hand out for him to take. "It's nice to finally meet you, I've heard a lot about you."

Killian takes her hand, shaking it once. He swallows. "Good things, I hope?"

"A bit of both," she answers truthfully. "But you figure out enough of the information in between and make your own conclusions."

"Given that I don't have bite marks, am I being hasty to assume they were positive conclusions?" Killian asks, attempting for levity.

Red laughs. "You help keep the Savior safe. That's a little more important than the rumor mill."

Emma grins, walking beside Killian to thread her arm through his elbow. It's an automatic reflex, to walk to him and hold onto him, and she doesn't even realize the significance of it until Red and Mulan both raise their eyebrows.

"Um," Emma says, head turning to meet Killian's eyes. He's smirking, because of course he is, and she resists the temptation to roll her eyes. She was planning on saying something, anything, but it seems words won't come to her. The idea of explaining to her parents' old friend and her girlfriend (Or wife? Are they married? Why is she so worried about keeping them updated on her love life when theirs is still such a mystery to her?) who exactly Killian is to her when Emma can't even label it herself gives her a preemptive headache.

So, she elects to change the subject. "So, you guys set up camp here?"

Mulan nods. Emma can't help but be relieved at how straight to the point the woman is. "That we did. You two can stay here for the night, or as long as you'd like. We've been hosting some enemies of the queen for a while, now."

"There are a few camps we've seen like this," Killian notes, hand sliding up to catch where Emma's rests in the crook of his elbow. He twines their fingers together. "The last one, well…"

"I met my grandfather," Emma explains. "He was not a nice guy."

"George?" Red asks curiously. "Huh. I've never met him, but I've heard…"

"He's a real asshole," Emma says, not mincing words. "I don't know where he's at now, but he's not running that camp anymore."

"Good to know," Mulan observes. Emma has only known her five minutes, but Mulan reminds Emma a bit of Ingrid, always level-headed and collected. It's a trait she's envious of. "We were just about to go to collect firewood, actually, when the guards…"

"Sorry," Emma apologizes, frowning. "We kind of attract them like flies."

"The price of being the Savior," Red says, shaking her head. "You're fine. Stay here for the night, at least. We can talk more, catch up. And I think there are some people who would like to see you while you're here."

"There are?" Emma asks, brow furrowing in confusion.

Red grins, eyes sparkling. "I'm going to get some firewood. Mulan can get you two to camp, right?" she turns to look at the other woman, eyes pleading.

Mulan just leans in to kiss her quickly, nodding her assent. "I can certainly do that."

"I'll help," Killian offers, squeezing Emma's hand once before letting it go. "Firewood is hardly pleasant to carry all on your own, if you're helping us it's the least I can do in return."

"Works with me," Red chirps. "That'll leave Mulan and Emma, then. We should be back within the hour."

Emma nods. "Thanks. For helping us, for helping me all those weeks ago-"

"Emma," Red shakes her head fondly. "We're family. Family looks out for each other. Alright?"

It's the oddest thing, to go from only having one other person to look out for for so long - and only looking out for herself before Ingrid took her in - to having a host of people she barely knows willing to call her family. Being the Savior, while it certainly has its drawbacks (constant mortal peril, for one) at least has this. And maybe that's what makes the Savior so strong - not any magical powers or spectacular bravery, but the best support system anyone could ask for.

"Thanks," Emma says, trying to keep her voice light.

Killian's mouth turns upwards and he dips his head to kiss her cheek, hand sliding to caress her arm. "See you in a bit, love."

"Be careful," she cautions, eyes fixed on his as he stills just inches away from her. "Alright?"

"Of splinters?" he asks, biting back a laugh. "I think I can do that."

-/-

"So, you're an old friend of the king and queen, then?" Killian begins, attempting to keep his voice light and make conversation. He won't be of much use when it comes to chopping - with just the one hand - but he can at least collect and converse.

"Yup," Red nods, turning over the axe in her hand. She grabbed it just before they left to the depths of the forest, when he had a difficult time of separating his eyes from Emma's. He's completely and utterly hopeless in that regard. But he's also never been more hopeful, so there's that. "I knew Snow first, back when she was a bandit. She was my family when no one else was. I'll always be grateful to her for that. And David, her and David just make sense together, you know? They make the perfect team, even after all these years," she shakes her head fondly. "I can't wait until Emma gets to meet them. She reminds me of both of them so much, looks and sounds and even _stands_ just like them."

"Do you know where they are?" Killian asks. "Emma's parents?"

Red bites her lip. "I wish I did, but it's better...it's better for all of us that we don't. They have a way of getting in contact with us, but we only use it when absolutely necessary. I did to tell them I found Emma, once, but of course they didn't reply because…" she shrugs, "safety first, and all that."

"What did lead you to finding Emma?" Killian continues with his line of questioning, eager to get the answers that have been floating around in his head since the beginning of this adventure. "When I was in that village, I didn't know the Savior was there. It was only when I heard the guards talking that I realized who she was and when I went to her cottage, she was gone."

Red tugs the compass out of her pocket, holding it up for him to examine. "The Blue Fairy spelled this so I could find her. She said it would light up when it was time for me to get to her and it did. I couldn't tell you why if I wanted to. I just know that's how it all worked out."

Killian considers that, brow furrowing. "How would we find this Blue Fairy, then?"

"Beats me," Red sighs, pocketing the compass again. "I only saw her when Emma was born, she hasn't been sighted since. She always gave me a weird feeling, but I suppose that's the case with fairies."

"Not all fairies," Killian says, before he can stop himself.

"Why? You know any?"

"I did once," he explains. "Back in Neverland, that is. Tinkerbell, her name was, but she lost her wings."

"The Blue Fairy is in charge of things like that, as far as I know," Red frowns. "Sucks for your friend."

"Aye," he agrees. "She seems like someone we need to meet, however. A woman who knows that much seems like an essential ally of the Savior."

"All I can get into contact with is her parents, if the circumstances are dire enough," Red explains. "Using birds, mainly, because Snow can talk to birds. It's...odd...but I guess if you spend long enough in the forest, you learn how to make friends."

"Birds, eh?" Killian hums thoughtfully. "I know a bit of bird, just enough to send messages. It's something I learned...a very long time ago."

"You know bird?" Red's eyebrows raise. "Wow, maybe you'd get along. When Emma introduces you to her parents, whenever they decide to pop up after Regina is defeated, you'll have some interesting conversations."

The thought makes him nervous, his hand coming up to scratch behind his ear and his cheeks flushing. They were meant to collect wood, but it seems they've been too occupied with conversation. That was fine, at first, but the idea of Emma introducing the pirate with the bad reputation to her royal parents…

It's hopeful, in a way, to think of the future he never thought he could have. With the Dark One still out there, he's still very much uncertain about future outcomes. It also inspires a bit of anxiousness to think of not meeting the expectations of the people Emma is sure to adore.

"I don't know if they'd approve," he laughs a bit self-deprecatingly. "A one handed pirate with a drinking problem who used to work for the Evil Queen? Hardly who they'd wish their daughter to surround herself with."

"You don't know them," Red reminds him, snapping a few twigs off a tree and starting a pile at their feet. "They didn't have the most glamorous pasts, you know. They of all people know there's more than meets the eye with people. I mean, Snow chose to help a freaking werewolf who ate her boyfriend."

Killian balks, at that. "Ate your…"

"Yeah," Red nods, brusquely. "Yeah, I did that. Not intentionally, but it was...let's say I'm glad Mulan could probably take me in a fight if it came to it. And that she's understanding about that. I dropped that story on her the first time we met and she still didn't run away screaming - that was one of the first signs we were meant to be."

He chuckles, recuperating quickly. "Aye, I suppose it's always good to have people who can see beyond our pasts."

"Yeah," Red agrees, smiling. "It is. And you have that, too, with Emma. I'm just glad she has someone who has her back. I didn't love the idea of her traveling alone - I wanted to go with her, honestly - but the Blue Fairy insisted that I should just tell her to run and the rest would fall into place."

"A fatalist, then, the fairy," Killian sighs. "Not my style, I'll admit. I believe that a man who doesn't fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets."

"That's my general philosophy," Red sighs. "Leaving my friends' daughter in the wild wasn't exactly part of the plan. I tracked her, for a little while, but I lost her trail."

Killian's brow furrows. "You did? I managed to find her within only a few days. And she had a head start."

Red grimaces. "And I'm the one with wolf senses, I know. But maybe the Blue Fairy was onto something."

"She was?"

"Maybe you found her because you were meant to," she suggests. "Granted, I don't think the big prophecy book had an addendum for pirate assistance, but...maybe that's why you found her. You found her because you chose to find her her and accepted the consequences of that decision. Risking your life would be enough of a deterrent for most people."

He stills, considering that. "I helped her because I thought it'd help me be safe from Regina, at first."

Red looks dubious, at that. "You thought it would make you safer from Regina...if you followed the woman who is her biggest target? Tell me how that makes sense."

Killian laughs, shaking his head. "It bloody well doesn't, when you say it like that."

"See?" Red grins, shaking her head. "We make our own choices. And you did, when you chose Emma. But that also gets us where we're meant to be, if that makes any sense. I'm no philosopher and maybe this is just my justification so I feel less guilty about leaving Emma on her own…"

"It makes sense," he assures her.

And it does.

Maybe that's why Killian has lived for so damn long, experienced over two centuries of anger and misery. It brought him to her. And there couldn't be a place he'd rather be than beside her.

-/-

"You're good with a sword," Mulan compliments, once Red and Killian leave.

Emma looks at her, confused for a moment, until she connects the dots. "With the guards?"

Mulan nods, giving her a small smile. "It takes a lot of training to get to that skill level. Took me years."

Emma shrugs, a little awkwardly. "I started using one when I was around sixteen, for something to do. I really liked swords, so I stuck with it until, well…" she gestures to herself, "now it's coming in handy. My, um, blacksmith was a good teacher. I still use the first one he gave me," Emma taps the hilt of it where it protrudes from her belt.

"My father taught me," Mulan explains, gesturing to her own sword as they walk forward towards the camp. "I always felt better with a sword than at etiquette lessons and I...had no interest in a husband," she grins, at that. "I wasn't fit to be the perfect bride."

"You did, huh?" Emma asks, smiling in turn. "Where is your father, now?"

Mulan's face turns wistful, then. "I grew up in a different kingdom and we went to war when I was just a girl. My father was drafted, but he was old and - I couldn't let him fight to die. I disguised myself as a man and took his place. I did my service until they found out I was a woman. Then I had to leave. I wish I could see my family again, talk to them, but," she shakes her head. "I suppose I chose my own destiny."

"You saved your father," Emma says, resting her hand on the woman's shoulder. "I'm sure they're proud of you wherever they are."

"I hope so," Mulan sighs. "It's been so long, I'm not sure it makes much of a difference. I was never the perfect daughter I tried to be."

"They'd be proud," Emma reassures her. "And I'm sure you'll see them again someday. You chose to fight, to be brave. You're still fighting in a different kingdom. Anyone would have to respect that."

"Anyone would have to respect what you do, Savior," Mulan points out. "Fighting for your own people, I _know_ your parents are proud of you."

This seems to be a common statement, between her and Red. Lancelot and Guinevere, too, told her something similar. The thought makes her heart twinge in her chest, aching to get to know the people she's never met. Emma hopes they'd be proud of her, from what she knows of them, hopes she isn't a completely disappointment as a Savior. Between losing the box and nearly dying a few days ago, it hasn't done wonders for her faith in herself.

"Thanks," she tells the other woman, unsure of what else to say as they walk.

"Of course," Mulan replies, ducking her head. She gestures to the tents that surround them, one with an open flap. "You two can stay here, tonight. I assume you're alright with sharing?"

"Yeah," Emma nods. "Totally fine. You need help with anything?"

"I think we're okay," Mulan replies with a nod.

Emma tucks her hands into the pockets of her jacket, flitting her eyes across the camp. There are over a dozen people milling about, similar to the last camps she was at. She guesses you can't get too creative with them, all things considered.

"I'll be right back," Mulan promises from behind her.

Emma nods in response, eyes fixing on a back of white armor a few paces away. She squints, taking in the familiar sight. There's no way...

"Lancelot?" Emma calls out, curiously, tilting her head as she walks forward.

He turns around in an instant, confirming her suspicions. "Emma!" Lancelot exclaims, rushing towards to lift her up in a bear hug. She lets out an 'oof' but returns the gesture all the same. "What are you doing here, Savior?"

She laughs, unable to contain the noise. "I...I don't even know. You wander enough, you're bound to find someone."

"You've been doing quite a bit more than wandering," he says, not unkindly, as he leans back to grin down at her. He's so much taller than her, he towers. "Been giving the Evil Queen quite the headache."

"Hopefully we can cause her a little more discomfort than that," Emma says, her eyes searching around him. "Where's Guinevere?"

"We?" Lancelot repeats, a grin lighting up his face. His eyes flicker to the man standing next to him, who just gives him a nod before leaving. "I see you still have your Captain, then. Gwen is around here somewhere, last I saw she was collecting some water."

"It's not like I lost him," Emma rolls her eyes, snickering just a little. "He went with Red to grab firewood."

"Ah," Lancelot grins. "Of course he did. Has he changed much, the Captain?"

Emma grins, shaking her head. "Not really. What have you guys been up to?"

Guinevere walks in next to them, her arms immediately going over Emma's shoulders in a hug. Emma hugs her back, only releasing an hiccup of surprise at the sudden embrace.

"I'm so relieved to see you okay, Emma," Guinevere laughs, her hand patting Emma's back before she leans away from her. "It's so nice to see you again."

"You, too," Emma beams. "I was just asking Lancelot where you guys have been since I've last seen you."

"Oh, you know," Guinevere says, setting her hands on her hips. "Around. We just left Robin and Marian's camp when we saw you a while ago, we've been taking in people here with the others ever since. There's someone else here I think you'll be excited to see, but-"

"Shh," Lancelot grins. "Let that be a surprise."

"Robin and Marian," Emma repeats in realization. "You know them?"

"You do?" Guinevere counters, eyebrows raising. "I believe we mentioned them before we left."

Emma's hand slaps against her forehead. "I forgot, everything was so hectic then. I mean, it still is, but that feels like such a long time ago."

She trails off, looking contemplative.

Lancelot chimes in. "How did you meet them? We've only heard whispers, haven't seen those two since we left."

Emma shakes her head, hand threading in her hair. "Long story short, I got Marian out of a dungeon and we talked with them for a little while once we walked Marian back to her camp. I posed as a guard. It was weird. I never want to do that again."

"Huh," Guinevere's brow furrows. "Is Marian alright? Is Robin? Roland?"

"Everyone is fine," Emma reassures her quickly. "Trust me, everyone is fine. But we did get to know them, a little."

The couple breathe a sigh of relief.

"I see you've done some Savioring then, Savior," Lancelot points out, making Emma squirm uncomfortably.

"I did what anyone would have done," Emma points out.

"No," a familiar voice calls behind her, so familiar that she turns around to face it. "You didn't. Give yourself some credit, Emma. You've always been someone to do the right thing even when it's hard."

Emma gapes, taking in the sight of Ingrid with her jaw almost on the floor. It's been weeks since she's seen her mother and it felt like forever. She spent so much of her life inseparable from her, from one of the only people who has never left her. To spend this long without her and see her takes the breath out of her lungs.

Lancelot chuckles and Guinevere grins, behind them.

"We'll give you two a moment," Guinevere says, kindly. Lancelot and Guinevere step away before she can even think too much about their exit, too focused on the sudden appearance of her mother.

"Ingrid," Emma exclaims, arms going around the other woman in an instant. She reciprocates fully, arms tightening around Emma. "I can't believe I'm seeing you again."

"Neither can I," Ingrid says, pressing a kiss into her hair. "I'm so relieved to see you're alright."

"You too," Emma exhales, pulling away to grasp her hands in hers. "I was so worried, thinking about what could've happened…"

"I got your message," Ingrid grins fondly, removing one of her hands from Emma's and cupping her cheek. "You're all in one piece, as promised."

"Mostly," Emma laughs, shaking her head. "There were a few close calls, but I'm still okay."

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for," Ingrid observes. "I've always known that. Savior or not, you can do anything you set your mind to."

"Even if that's defeating the Evil Queen," Emma sighs, raising her eyebrows. "We'll see how that one works out. Currently, I'm…" she gesticulates, withdrawing her other hand from Ingrid's, "planless. We had a box and it burned. Now there's just us."

Ingrid's mouth curves into a knowing smile. "Us, huh?"

Emma opens her mouth to explain, but Red's voice carries through the camp before she has a chance to.

"We have plenty of wood," she calls, grinning as she sets down a few logs down.

Killian follows at Red's heels, timber piled in his arms, and his expression turns surprised at the sight of Ingrid. Emma can't blame him, it's not as if he ever expected to see her again. As for if Ingrid expected the same, well, if word got around enough of her adventures, he was bound to be included. She bites her lip, a little nervous at the idea of her mother's response to the man who posed as a blacksmith at her doorstep now that she knows he's actually Captain Hook.

"Killian," Ingrid greets, not unkindly. "It's nice to see you again. Thank you for helping keep my daughter safe, all these weeks."

Emma breathes a sigh of relief. It seems she heard enough to get a general idea.

"Ingrid," he responds in turn, setting the pile of timber near the fire. "It's good to see you again. And I have to thank your daughter for saving my sorry arse too many times for me to, well," he holds up his prosthetic hand, "count."

Self-depreciation as a method of diffusing awkward tension. Emma can recognize Killian's habits well enough, by now.

"I'm glad she has someone who has her back," Ingrid says, a small smile lighting her face.

"I'm going to go see what Mulan is up to," Red calls, stepping away a bit awkwardly. "Tell me if you need any help with the fire."

Emma nods. "You got it, Red."

They stay still, the three left standing, all a bit tense. Emma feels like she's just brought her first boyfriend home (and didn't she? It's not home, but it isn't like her mother ever met Baelfire or Walsh or anyone else - they all were more like secret trysts than anything else) and is waiting for her mother to disapprove of him and tell her that she isn't allowed to be courting.

Which, of course, Ingrid would never do. Nor would she have the power to do it - Emma is a grown adult and has been traveling in the damn kingdom on some grand mission to defeat a dictator, Ingrid hardly has jurisdiction of her love life. She never did, but she especially wouldn't now.

"Well," Killian notes, finally, voice pitched a bit high. "This is awkward."

"Killian and I are together," Emma says, the words jumbled in the one breath she uses to rush them out.

Ingrid just raises her eyebrows. "I know."

"You do?" Emma asks, a bit surprised.

"Stories get around, you know," Ingrid replies, amused.

Emma's eyes narrow. "What kind of stories?"

"The usual."

It's a vague answers. She sighs, trying to figure out what her mother could mean. Emma thinks briefly of what she overheard in Killian and Marian's conversation, the part she didn't have such a panicked reaction to.

("Stories like what?"

"Oh, how devoted the pirate and Savior seem to be to each other. How you can't keep your hands off each other, how you overcame Regina's best curses to be together, how you're fated to be together, blah, blah, blah."

"All of which are false," Killian had claimed, before.)

Now it all seems to be true. The corner of her lips tug upwards, in spite of herself.

Killian walks up to Emma, arm sliding around her waist. "That's a relief. Disappointed your daughter is out cavorting with a pirate, then? Could hardly blame you."

He intends it to be lighthearted, but she recognizes the serious undertone. She slides her hand to his hip, pulling him closer. "A few days ago I nearly died of a sickness before Killian got me the cure," she tells Ingrid, just to prove her point. "That's discounting the numerous other times he's saved my life."

"I believe you still have me outnumbered," Killian retorts.

"Oh, shut up."

"That's not necessarily making me feel better about your safety, knowing you were deathly ill," Ingrid frowns, peering at her daughter carefully. "Do you need me to heal anything? Do you think there's anything left?"

Emma sighs exaggeratedly. "I'm fine. Thanks to Killian."

"You hardly need to scare me to seek my approval," Ingrid tuts. "As I said, I'm glad you have Killian. It's good to have someone on your team."

Killian's answering smile is a little tight. "Even if it's a scoundrel like me, eh?"

"We all have pasts we're not proud of," Ingrid says, a bit cryptically. "I can hardly throw stones at glass houses, Killian."

Emma knows the gist of her background, knows that her sisters ran away from her when her powers got out of control and she spent years trying to channel them into something good, something better. She hummed the story out in bits and pieces, when she healed a bruise of Emma's here and wiped away a tear of Emma's there. The lesson of moving on from mistakes, no matter how painful, was what she recited to Emma after getting her out of the cell Baelfire put her in.

She never did get back into contact with her sisters, Emma doesn't think. She frowns at the thought.

"I have one of the ugliest," Killian says, grimacing.

"That just means you have to make your future one of the best," Ingrid tells him, fusing the words with the calm tranquility that Emma has known almost all of her life. It's almost unnerving, how calm she is. It was frustrating when Emma was younger, when she attempted screaming matches with a woman whose voice never varied pitch or became shrill. It was another way she tried to push her away (the quicker the better, Emma had grown so used to disappointment) and another way Ingrid wouldn't let her.

She really missed her mother.

-/-

Dinner is an interesting affair, to say the least.

Emma is pressed between Killian and her mother, laughing at a memory Ingrid brings up. Something about a bratty child and a false spider, he catches, but his eyes are fixed on her smile. He's glad to see her happy, happy to see her lit up like this. He smiles fondly at the scene, the warmth of the feeling a rival to the fire in front of them.

Guinevere is at the other side of him, grinning and shaking her head at the expression on Killian's face when she nudges his shoulder. "I see not much has changed, Hook."

"Hm?" he replies, a bit distractedly, as he swivels his head to face her.

"Absolutely nothing," she grins innocently.

"And you're still just as cryptic," he retorts, taking a swig of the water beside him.

Lancelot smirks, too, at her side. "We could tell back then, you know, even when you both were oblivious. I've never seen two enemies so enraptured with each other."

"Bragging doesn't befit a knight," Killian says.

"Well, Regina's knights are out there killing people, so I'd say I'm entitled to this," Lancelot shrugs. "So, let me brag - my wife and I saw through you two from day one."

"It was more like day three, actually," Killian mutters, taking another drag of his drink. He's beginning to miss his rum. It's only tucked away in his satchel, but he's been attempting to wean back from it. "You met us on the third day of being on the run, if I'm remembering correctly."

"Well, I can say day one," Ingrid chirps, apparently finished with her story. He admires her multitasking skills, he has to say. Emma raises her eyebrows at the change of conversation, eyes flickering to Killian. "The new blacksmith came into our house and neither of them could stop flirting."

"Seriously?" Emma's face pinches. "Come on, he dragged in an unconscious Geppetto. That's hardly flirting."

"You did call me a _'pretty face'_ ," Killian smirks.

Emma rolls her eyes. " _Please_."

Mulan redirects the conversation, much to her relief. "What have you been up to these past weeks, Emma? We've all heard stories, but...we know how inaccurate those tend to be."

"Well," Emma cants her head to the side, thinking about it for a moment. "We met this girl named Rapunzel, helped her get back to her kingdom. Really sweet girl, Regina locked her in a tower and she just broke out when we found her."

"Emma rescued her from a guard," Killian adds, pride leaking into his voice as his arm slides around her waist.

"I did not," Emma replies stubbornly. "I just...distracted him. She saved herself. Then there was Belle, who helped us get the book to find the box. A guy who had a crush on her, Will, apparently stole a book from her library because he got drunk or...something."

Lancelot snorts. "I've done stupider, believe it or not."

"Haven't we all," Red grins, shaking her head.

"A little lass named Grace needed help getting back to her father," Killian smiles at the memory, remembering the sight of her toying with his pirate's luck. "Emma, of course, was brilliant with her."

Emma elbows him playfully. "Please, that little girl adored you. This woman named Aurora tied us up in her shop's basement, but we ended up helping her get back to her husband, Phillip. He was locked up in the dungeon and we nearly got stuck in the cells."

"Aurora and Phillip?" Mulan asks, voice a little thin. "You said that was their names?"

Killian's interest is piqued, recognizing history there when he hears it. At the look that crosses Mulan's face - then Red's, who is apparently familiar with whatever past is shared there - it's a wound best left unscratched.

Emma must have come to a similar conclusion, given the sympathetic expression on her face. "Yeah. Yeah, they seemed like nice people, at the end of the day. And then there were the guards, Cruella, Robin, Marian," Emma lists off.

"Met an interesting lot," Killian nods. "A mermaid, too."

"My father's ex-fiance," Emma snorts. "Really nice woman, actually. Incredibly nice, given we...burned down her house."

"The guards burned down her house," Killian corrects. She's blamed herself enough for that.

"Abigail?" Guinevere asks curiously. "I'm glad to hear she's safe, I know she's been under the radar lately."

"Yeah," Emma nods. "Her and Frederick - her husband - both are great people. There are a lot of...really good people out there."

"Yes," Ingrid agrees, nodding. "There are. I think sometimes it's easy to lose sight of that."

"My father's father notwithstanding…" Emma grimaces.

"Oh," Lancelot groans. "Oh, good old King George."

"I take it you're familiar," Killian chuckles.

"There's a reason he and David could never stand each other," Guinevere says.

"Point is," Emma says, finally. "Ingrid is right. There are a lot of good people, out there. Good people who don't deserve what Regina is putting them through on a day to day basis. All of you included. And I guess it just...it just reminds me how important this is. Makes it feel that much more real. And I just...I wish I knew of a way I could defeat her."

Every word she says strikes a chord with Killian. It started out as just a means to an end, at first, protecting his own arse rather than concerning himself with the people oppressed by Regina the most. Sure, he'd spare people, but it was nothing, no grand show of bravery in comparison to what Emma does. What Emma inspires in him.

Killian presses a kiss to her temple, unable to help himself.

"You'll figure it out," Ingrid assures her, giving her a small smile. "You always do."

Lancelot lifts up the water flask in his hand, holding it to the middle. "To defeating Regina, then."

"To defeating Regina," everyone chimes in, leaning forward with their own flasks.

Killian feels a rush of affection for the people in this camp, for Emma's extended family. As complicated as their connections all may be, they're a family. He's never quite had much of one, among all of his losses. It's a sight that has heat spreading through him, the comfortable sort, a sense of belonging spreading from head to toe. By the look on Emma's face, eyes glimmering with unshed, grateful tears, she must feel the same way. The merits of being able to understand each other so well, he supposes.

-/-

Everyone gets up to go about their nightly routines, deciding on shifts (Lancelot insists on taking this one, despite Emma's protests - he claims it's his gift to her, a good night's sleep) and preparing for rest. Red and Mulan head to their tent, Guinevere takes the shift with Lancelot, and Killian is off to set up their tent to suit their needs for the night. That just leaves Ingrid and Emma alone by the fire, finally given an opportunity to talk between just the two of them.

There's something that Ingrid, of all people, could have answers about that she doesn't.

"I have a little magic, right?" Emma brings up the subject carefully, wondering how best to probe it. She wants answers, but what kind she isn't exactly sure of.

"You do," Ingrid nods, eyes alight with curiosity. "You have a lot of potential, though I think you have a lot of your powers blocked off because you have yet to fully embrace them."

It's a speech she's been given plenty of times, by now. Emma walls herself away from her powers, too afraid to accept them, doesn't believe in herself enough - it's all a diatribe she has memorized by now. She cuts to the chase. "Yeah, well, it's not just the feather floating and fake spider crawling anymore, I don't think."

"What happened?"

Emma grimaces, unsure of how best to explain herself. "Killian got a cut, right? It was a scratch, really, but it was bleeding and I bandaged it and sanitized it and everything else. I put my hand over it, afterwards, and I was just talking to him for a little while. He said it felt much better almost immediately, but he may have just been...well, it's Killian. The next morning, I notice it's completely gone."

Ingrid waits, patiently, for her to continue.

"I healed him," she says, still dazed by the fact. "At least, I think I did."

"I knew you had powers beyond what you thought yourself capable," Ingrid replies, grinning slightly. "And you said that you were hopeless with magic."

"I was," Emma rolls her eyes. "I am. It was just a weird fluke. But a really strong fluke out of nowhere. And I know..." she inhales deeply, "and I know I care about Killian, even if sometimes it's scary. I know he isn't like Baelfire or Walsh or - he landed himself in a cell, once, trying to save me, which is the complete antithesis of Baelfire. He never leaves, even if I tell him it's for his own good. I know I'm still afraid of all of that, afraid of letting him in all the way. I know magic is feeling, I do, it's just...I don't know why my magic..."

"Sometimes you find people who bring the best magic out of you," Ingrid tells her. "People who inspire you, make you feel the strongest emotions. It's those strong emotions that help you channel your magic, Emma. Concern, anger, hope…" she trails off before finishing the sentence, "but most of all, love."

Emam noticeably recoils. "I'm not-"

"Emma," Ingrid stops her before she can begin, voice still just as calm as it has always been. "I know it's scary. And I know you've been disappointed before and that's why this is so hard for you. But, honey, you just spent the last few minutes telling me about how he isn't like the rest of them. And you, I've never seen you so happy. Even in these conditions, he clearly makes you happy."

Emma gapes at her mother, mouth opening and closing with the intention of having words come out. They don't. She leans back, clenching her eyes shut. "I can't...I can't think about that right now."

"The more you deny it, the harder it's going to be," Ingrid observes. "I know he loves you, Emma, I can see it in how he treats you. And I know you feel the same way about him. You're just afraid."

"I'm not afraid," Emma protests.

"I know you, Emma," Ingrid sighs, shaking her head. "I know you better than anyone. You're afraid. But that's okay. Because you have someone who has your back, who will support you every step of the way until you can realize it for yourself. Before you can accept it, perhaps, because I know you must realize it by now."

Emma exhales shakily, thinking of what it cost to love people before. All she got out of it was a broken heart and bitterness. As much as she trusts Killian with her life, somehow it's harder to trust him with her heart. She's made too many mistakes, before.

(But her mother is right - he isn't like them. Killian stayed. And he continues to stay.)

It's still all too much for her to handle.

"I can't afford that right now," she manages to respond.

"Love doesn't have to be a weakness, Emma," Ingrid tells her, voice matter-of-fact. "Love is more often a strength. It's what binds us together when everything else demands we pull apart."

Emma bites her lip, considering that for a moment.

"It's been weeks since I've seen you," Emma sighs, head coming down to lean against Ingrid's shoulder. "But you still manage the life lessons."

"It's what mothers are for," Ingrid replies, arm coming around Emma's shoulder. "I'm so proud of you. You have no idea how happy I am to see what a strong, determined, brave woman you've turned out to be. I always knew you were. Now you know, too. You have to know."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Bother me?" Ingrid asks in disbelief. "Why on earth would it bother me? Surely I want my daughter safe, away from demented people who want her dead, but I could never be bothered to know that my daughter is finding out who she is, what she's meant for. I know you can get through it. I know you'll win. And I worry, but I know…" her hand tightens on Emma's shoulder. "I know you'll do just fine, Emma."

"Bother you that my parents…" Emma says, grateful that her head is on Ingrid's shoulder so she doesn't have to meet her eyes. "That part doesn't bother you?"

"You've spent your entire life wondering who your parents were," Ingrid says, as if the reply is the easiest thing in the world. "You deserve to know. You deserve parents who love you, no matter what, and you deserve to know them. I can certainly learn to share if it means you'll know that you're loved when you spent so much of your life believing you weren't."

"I love you," Emma says, hand sliding up to where Ingrid's rests on her shoulder. "You know that, right?"

"I love you too, honey," Ingrid tells her, kissing the top of Emma's head. "And I know Snow and David will, too. You deserve nothing less."

"I missed you," Emma adds, because she did. She missed this, the support of a mother is unrivaled by anything else. No matter what, she always wants this in her life. "I missed you a lot."

"And I missed you," Ingrid says. "I know you'll come back when you can, once you do what you need to do. You know you can always find me if you need me, too."

"I do," Emma nods, swallowing back the lump in her throat. "I do."

-/-

Emma slips inside of the tent and slides beside Killian on the blankets an hour after he leaves her alone to speak to her mother, stripping off her jacket and her boots before she scoots to his side under the blanket he's tucked into. He lies still - just a barely noticeable, close lipped smile coloring his face - while Emma presses her back against his chest, her weight against him steady and soothing. She grabs his hand, tangling in in hers and draping it over her waist.

He keeps his eyes closed, content to simply bask. She feels warm and solid against him, a feeling he isn't anxious to lose. She's exhausted, she has to be, after sickness and travel and all of the stresses that come with being the Savior. Killian supposes he's been exhausting her enough. He's content to fall asleep, now that she's here, let the comfort of her body next to his soothe him to unconsciousness.

Emma has other thoughts. "I know you're awake," she grumbles, hand tightening on his.

Killian chuckles, tugging her closer against his bare chest. "C'mere, darling," he kisses the back of her neck, his blunted arm wrapping around her waist to get her impossibly closer. She feels soft in his arms, delightfully so, and he can't help but wonder how much softer he can make her feel, how much warmer he can make her feel. Killian continues kissing a pattern down the long column of her throat, her head tilting to allow him to do so. "I don't suppose you'd like a nightcap?"

"Wolves have enhanced hearing and smell," Emma reminds him as he suckles at a spot of her neck. She arches against him, groaning, but he knows they won't go any further without her explicit permission. If these are her boundaries, he's to respect them. Their relationship - if she'd be comfortable using the word - has always been based on that mutual respect. "I definitely don't want Red to know what we're up to, thanks."

"Perhaps her Mulan has her distracted enough," Killian suggests, a last attempt to test the waters, but Emma just arches her head to meet his lips. He kisses her back, hand leaving hers to fist in her hair, and breaks apart with a ragged sigh.

"As loud as you get?" Emma raises her eyebrows when they separate, unconvinced. She licks her lips and he follows the motion of her tongue with his eyes, not sure which asset of hers he's more envious of - her lips or her tongue. " _'Emma, sweetheart, come on, you can do it,'_ " she mimics his accent and breathy rasp, barely holding her peals of laughter enough to do so.

Killian rolls his eyes, kissing her cheek before sliding back behind her. "Me? You're not quiet yourself, Swan."

"Really?" Emma replies skeptically. "You would wake the whole camp up, forget the wolf hearing."

He hums, kissing her neck. Killian's hand slides to rest at her waist, his leg jutting forward just enough so that she could rest her legs on either side of it, were she tempted to do so. Emma wiggles backwards, hand resting on top of his, and lifts one of her legs up slightly to allow him better access. He grins against her skin, thigh sliding between hers, and she lets out a contented sigh.

"Comfortable?" Killian asks, amused.

She hums, nodding. "Yup."

His hand leaves hers to skimming down her so slightly, rubbing slow circles at a spot of bare skin under her shirt, just above the start of her pants. Emma leans back into him, her hips jerking forwards when his fingers slip at the start of her waistband. She shifts down on his leg ever-so-slightly.

"Too much?" he asks in a whisper, heart pounding in his ears. Killian doesn't wish to push her, doesn't wish to try anything she won't be comfortable with. If she doesn't want this, she doesn't want it.

(Even though she let out a slight gasp just from the pads of his fingers at her stomach and he's so hard, so stiff against the curve of her arse that it nearly hurts. She has to feel it, has to feel him.)

Killian won't do anything she doesn't want.

"Whatever you want, darling, just tell me."

Emma makes a sound in the back of her throat, a frustrated sort of groan, and her legs tighten around his thigh. "Can you be quiet?" she asks finally, her whisper barely intelligible. Emma rubs against his thigh a little more. This time he tightens the muscle in his leg and presses it right back against her. Her answering moan is stifled, but noticeable to an ear trained to hear sounds of pleasure spill from her lips.

"I can do anything for you," he promises, keeping his voice hushed. "Do you want me to touch you?"

"No talking," Emma instructs, even as he presses his face into her hair and his arm tightens around her waist to hold her closer. "But," his thigh slides against her, pulling out from between where her legs are squeezing it, and she nearly whimpers. "Yeah. Yeah, I want that."

Killian just hums, hand sliding to her waistband. He taps his fingers against it, a voiceless question, and she nods.

"Go ahead," she murmurs, lifting her hips to allow him to tug her pants down. Killian does, thumb hooking into her undergarments and dragging them down right along with them. She slides her legs out of her pants, leaving her center bare and his hand free to slide between her thighs and rub against where she's the most sensitive. She bucks against his touch and he can't hold back his grin.

Emma reaches around for where he's hard and wanting against her, palming him through the leather. He moans, grinding into her touch without thinking, and his pace picks up against her clit. Killian wants to slip his cock inside of her, feel where she's ready for him, wrap his arms around her and piston his hips just right until she can't hold back the noise. He settles for rolling her clit against his thumb, inserting two fingers inside of her in one wet slide.

She clutches the arm that's wrapped around her, keeping her close to him as he presses his fingers in and out of her. Her other hand is still massaging his cock through his pants, sliding up just to slip under his waistband and he bites his lip so hard to keep from making a sound he almost fears it'll start bleeding.

He finally takes it as a cue to remove his own clothes, moving back to slide out of his leathers as Emma sets herself on hastily undoing her shirt. Once they're both finally, blissfully bare, he slides right back behind her, pressing a few kisses against her back and brushing his hand against her chest, thumb rubbing circles over her breasts.

Emma slides her knees up, hand tightening on his blunted arm where it's anchored around her waist. It's a voiceless instruction, allowing him to line up right at her entrance and feel where she's soaking wet for him, feel the contrast of her heat and the cool air.

"Are you sure?" he murmurs, kissing her shoulder once more.

Emma swallows and nods. He takes that as all of the guidance he needs to sink himself inside of her.

She whimpers, the sound just audible, but all he can think about is how tight she feels like this. This position has her feeling even smaller and even just the tip of him feeling engulfed.

"Alright?" he whispers.

"Gods," she chokes out, the sound barely audible. He has to strain to hear it. "Just feel really big, like this."

He bites back the temptation to let out a _'Bloody buggering fuck'_ and various other curses intermixed with praises for her, for her heat and her body and the way she arches against him, pushes down until he's filling more and more of her and straining with little motions of her hips and the sighs she barely emits. She's right, it's much easier for her to stay quiet, because he's not even all of the way inside of her and he just wants to tell her how much he wants her, how incredible she feels, how much he loves her.

It's a good thing they had to stay quiet, it is.

Killian pushes himself inside of her slowly, lips coming down to suckle at her shoulder for something to occupy his mouth with. Once he's buried to the hilt inside of her, Killian feels as if he's on fire, burning him from head to toe while he's greedy to be consumed. His hand pulls away from the base of his cock, fingers rubbing against her clit as she rocks against him.

He can feel the sweat slicking their bodies, hear the muted hisses and groans she allows to escape her. Killian takes that as encouragement, fingers massaging her clit and hips sliding back and forth. His hand moves up to slide around her body, desperate to feel her if he can't see the look on her face, and he's smearing the wetness left at her center with every skim of his hand over her belly, every pinch on her nipples, and he can tell she's getting more and more desperate. She's mostly silent, in a way that almost frustrates him, but he's determined to pull at least some noises from her lips.

Perhaps he can prove he isn't the loud one, after all. The she wolf had to be asleep, as it was.

Killian tightens his blunted arm around her, holding her more firmly in place, as his hand grabs her thigh to keep it propped up. His thrusts get more fluid, harder, quicker and he swears he feels Emma shake. Her hand comes up to tangle in his hair behind her, crushing him further to her, and he bites - lightly - into her shoulder. He picks up the pace, biting back praises of how wonderful she feels, how wet she is, how tight she is, and just resolves on eliciting gasps and moans when he can. Her other hand comes down to her clit, rubbing it in hard, dirty, strokes, and he knows he's won.

"Killian," she rasps, finally, as his thrusts get faster and faster and she makes hers on her clit match. It's all he wanted, all he ever wants, to hear his name fall from her lips.

He responds by thrusting into her harder, tongue tracing over her neck and hand tightening on her thigh. He wants to ask if he makes her feel full and aching. He wants to ask her how she's feeling, what he can do to send her over the edge quicker. He wants to ask her if she likes him, just like this, if she can even think of something besides his name.

(All he can think of is hers in a rhythmless pattern: _Emma, Emma, Emma_ \- repeated as erratically as his thrusts and getting needier and needier.)

Killian's hand leaves her thigh, sliding between them as he pistons in and out of her. Her hand is still rubbing against her clit, but he catches her wrist with his and stops her attentions. He moves her hand to her thigh, replacing his earlier station, and his fingers are immediately set on taking the place of hers on her clit. A foreign touch, combined with his cock pressing her open, should do the trick when she feels this close. She feels tighter and tighter around him and it's nothing short of sweet agony.

(He wants to tell her how hard she makes it for him not to come when she feels this good, how good he wants to make her feel.)

Emma finally arches, fingers knotting in his hair, feet scrambling for purchase, and her mouth open in a silent scream. He marks it as a win. It only takes a few more steady, hard, strokes and he follows her right over, heat flooding through him and leaving him a boneless heap at her side. Their heavy breathing fills the tent and he presses one last kiss to her shoulder before sliding away from her to lie on his back. She follows him, rolling over to rest her head on his chest.

"I won," he murmurs into her hair, grinning as he presses a kiss to her head.

"Won what?" Emma asks, understandably confused. "I didn't know it was a competition."

"I love a challenge," he grins.

She responds by playfully biting his collarbone, a gentle warning. "You weren't that quiet yourself."

"I didn't say a word." Killian says, arms tightening around her waist. "You said my name."

"Please," Emma scoffs. "I barely whispered it."

"You said my name," he repeats, beaming. "I could keep quiet, lass. You couldn't."

Emma groans in exasperation, burrowing her face further in his chest. "You're obnoxious, you know that?"

"You love it," Killian teases, running has handless arm up and down her back. "And I love hearing you, love the noises you make for me-"

"Red," Emma reminds him, pointedly.

Killian rolls his eyes, nose nuzzling in her hair. "I think if she's truly listening that closely, she gets the point. There are plenty of couples here, herself and Mulan included. If she hasn't learned to block out noise, well-"

"She knows my parents!"

"To be entirely fair, darling, who _doesn't_?"

She pokes into his side. "See? You're the one who can't shut up."

He chuckles fondly, pulling her even closer into his side. "Go to sleep, Swan."

-/-

"So," Emma begins, setting her hands on her thighs as she crouches at the log across from Red. Killian follow suit, arm sliding across her shoulders. "We've kind of been at a dead end, Regina wise. You know more than just about anyone when it comes to my parents - you had the compass that directed you to me - so I was wondering if you," Emma shrugs slightly, biting her lip, "had any ideas?"

If she heard anything last night - a thought mortifying enough that it made her pace back and forth in the damn tent in anxiousness for fifteen minutes until Killian sighed and dragged her out with his hand in hers - Red doesn't show it. Either she's great with discretion or she just didn't hear it. Emma is hoping it's the latter.

"Well," Red starts, voice contemplative, as she pulls out the compass from the pocket of her hood and fiddles with it in her hands. "There are rumors that there's another compass with a different purpose. One that - according to legend - makes sure you always find what you're meant to. This one," she taps her finger against the glass of the one she's holding, "is spelled specifically for you, the Blue Fairy took care of that. But that one, the one that's on the top of a beanstalk, that will help you find what you want to most."

"A way to defeat Regina," Emma finishes, her voice hopeful.

"That's the idea," Red grins, white teeth shining. "The Savior's greatest desire, you would think."

The corners of Emma's mouth turn upwards. "And where would someone find a beanstalk like this?"

Killian clears his throat beside her, after he movies his hand from her shoulder. She turns around to face him expectantly and he holds up a painstakingly detailed map in his hand - freshly pulled out of his satchel. "Cartography is hardly a wasted skill, Swan. You have any needs for navigation and a sailor can fulfill them for you. As for any other needs…" he trails off suggestively, whispering the last words in her ear. Emma rolls her eyes, taking the map from his hand with a heavy sigh.

"This woman knows my parents," she hisses under her breath. "The woman that raised me is staying here."

"Apologies," Killian grins, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

"I can hear you," Red reminds them, looking amused. "And you two are hardly quiet."

Emma pales, stiffening.

"Relax," Red shakes her head, grinning. "I don't eavesdrop if I can help it. I didn't hear any tent...happenings, if that's what you're worried about. If I did, I'd never be able to look anyone here in the eyes again. There was once with Lancelot and Guinevere and I trained myself not to listen at night to those kind of -"

"Alright, then!" Emma says quickly, moving to stand. "Changing subjects, compass! Beanstalk! Anything but that!"

Red just laughs at her.


	16. Compass

**A/N: Hey, happy Wednesday! I hope you guys are having a great week. I also hope you enjoy this chapter! We're over halfway through this fic, now so it's kind of exciting to be getting closer and closer to that endmark. There will be sequels. There's going to be a lot going on. Things are going to start ramping up and it's just going to be exciting to write! I hope it's exciting to read!**

 **Thank you guys so much for reading!**

-/-

Saying goodbye doesn't get much easier.

You would think, after multiple times of doing just that, it would. But Ingrid's eyes are still a little watery when she hugs Emma goodbye. She embraces Ingrid tightly, arms pressing so hard against her back it has to be painful. Ingrid doesn't complain, though, she never complains. She just pats Emma's back reassuringly as she leans back to look at her.

"You'll do just fine," Ingrid promises, hand coming up to push back a strand of Emma's hair behind her ear. "You always do. I'll see you again very soon."

"I better," Emma retorts, a bittersweet smile on her lips.

Killian lingers behind them, leaving mother and daughter to say their farewells as he shakes the hands of Lancelot and Guinevere. Emma wanted to get to Ingrid first because she knew that she'd be the hardest to say goodbye to. If she can get it out of the way with her first, she'll be less tempted to cling to this damn camp by her fingernails in the soil and be forcibly dragged out by Killian so they can find the damn compass.

(Not that he'd drag her out, of course, but the point still stands.)

"Be careful," Ingrid cautions her, patting Emma's back before removing her arms from around her. "Alright? I don't want to have to give a lecture to Killian about -"

"Goodbye to you as well, Ingrid," Killian interjects dramatically, but there's no real malice in his voice. He's grinning, to boot. "I'll make sure she's alright. Just as she's done for me this journey."

"Good," Ingrid replies, pressing one last kiss to Emma's cheek.

Emma groans at the two of them. Killian's grin stays on his face.

"I love you, mom," she tells Ingrid.

Ingrid just gives her a sincere smile in return. "I love you too, Emma."

They stay like that, for a moment, just staring at each other. It's hard to let the woman that's been a constant throughout her life go, even if it's for a short period of time. Emma's hands curl into fists at her sides, resisting the temptation to stay when she has to leave.

Ingrid seems to get that, walking away so Emma doesn't have to. "I think someone sprained their ankle this morning. I should get back to that." she says, kindly. "Stay safe, Emma."

"You too," Emma replies. She watches Ingrid recede back to the rest of the camp before she feels a finger tapping her shoulder. She turns around to face the culprit and finds Lancelot smiling at her. Guinevere is standing right next to him, a similarly amused grin on her lips.

"Look how far you've come," Lancelot says, his expression warm. "I remember when your mother was pregnant with you, you know. Now you're out saving people, fighting to defeat an Evil Queen."

"All grown up," Guinevere adds, a teasing grin on her lips.

Emma blushes in spite of herself. "Come on. Are we really doing this now?"

"We are," Lancelot chuckles, leaning down to hug her. Emma reciprocates easily, hands clasping around his back. "Grown a lot just within the last months, too. Not in the literal sense, sure, but grown all the same."

"More confident," Guinevere observes. "Less unsure, more determined, your stance is a little sturdier and you seem less burdened by everything. You would think it'd be the opposite, given all the stress, but you just seem to thrive in it. Reminds me of your parents."

Emma swears that if she had a piece of gold for every time one of them said she reminded them of her parents, she could buy a castle. She swallows the reply, though, because it warms her all the same. The fact that she still has something in her similar to the people she used to think never loved her, never cared. To the people she now knows as heroes - even though there's some bitterness left in her that wonders why they gave her up, why they left her, why they couldn't have fought by her side.

(There's some answer like prophecy or safety - but it's hard to reason with the little girl she remembers who used to cry herself to sleep because she didn't think there was anyone out there who gave a damn about her, who knew she was abandoned on the side of the road with only a baby blanket with her name stitched on it and no one to care for her in the way that the purple ribbon and soft fabric implied she was cared for.)

"Emma?" Lancelot asks, snapping her out of her reverie. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Emma replies, voice a little tight. "I'm fine."

He frowns, but seems to accept the answer all the same. Guinevere slips her hands around Emma's shoulders, next, hugging her goodbye.

"I keep saying this, but your parents would be proud of you," she murmurs into Emma's hair. "And I know we're proud of you, too. We know you can do this. Just keep fighting, alright? We're right beside you, even if we may not be right there with you physically. And well, though we aren't," she pauses, eyes going over Emma's shoulder where Killian must be hanging back. "You have someone who is."

"I know," Emma replies, voice cracking on the words. "Thank you. So much."

"Anytime," Guinevere replies easily, leaning back and giving her a soft smile. "Stay safe."

"Yeah," Lancelot agrees. "Stay safe. The both of you need to."

"You got it," Emma replies, giving them both one last little wave. They walk back to the camp - presumably to their tent to finally get some rest after staying up the entire night.

-/-

Red and Mulan are the next to offer their goodbyes. Mulan has a bag in her hands and Red offers the both of them a wide grin. They're an interesting pair, to be sure, the wolf and the warrior. They seem to balance each other out in temperament, however, and Killian can't help but see a bit of himself and Emma in them.

(He, impish and unable to keep his mouth shut. Emma, guarded and a force to be reckoned with when she has a sword in her hand.)

The goodbyes were hard on Emma, he could tell, the longing she has for a family she made and the family she never met evident in the way she bid adieu to the knight and his wife and her mother. He's taken a liking to all of them, if he's forced to admit it. Ingrid's calm demeanor and Lancelot and Guinevere's infectious charm make it easy to - especially for a man who spent centuries unable to find good hearts in much of anyone.

When he did, they were crushed to dust on his deck.

(He knows Emma has had similar experiences, though perhaps less extreme, and perhaps that's why it's so easy to understand the bittersweetness of it all.)

Killian busies himself with tying his satchel closed - it's practically overflowing, these days, between the clothes and everything else and he knows he's either going to have to find a larger one or start emptying this one out - in an attempt to give Red and Mulan time to have a private conversation with Emma. It's a gesture of respect, attempting not to intervene in personal moments, but Red has none of it.

"You still speak bird, right?" Red asks Killian, making Emma's eyebrows raise exponentially.

"What?" Emma asks, baffled, but Killian just laughs.

"Aye," he nods, replying as soon as he finishes tying the knots on his satchel. "I do. May I ask why?"

"Could be useful in case you two need to get back into contact with us," Red shrugs. "You never know."

"Aye," Killian nods, sounding faintly amused as he adjusts the strap of his satchel on his shoulder and his scarf around his neck.

Winter isn't quite as unforgiving as it was, but Emma is fond of leaving her mark on him on particular spots of his neck. He's fond of the practice too, of course, though he does his best to ensure that the marks he leaves on her are far less visible. Emma is shameless with her affections when they're in private, however, and last night was no exception. Given how flustered she could be with her mother and her parents' friends about any possible salaciousness, he supposed that it'd be wise to attempt to cover the evidence.

Red, though, seems to have good humor about situations like these. It evidently extends to odd skillsets. Killian grins. "I suppose you don't."

Emma just shakes her head. "I'm not even going to ask. Thank you so much for all your help, Red."

"Anytime," Red replies easily. "I'll let Mulan tell you the rest, she's got it all figured out," she shoots a grateful smile to her partner. "She's a hell of a planner."

Mulan chuckles, shaking her head. "You're not bad yourself, Red."

Red is still grinning when she turns back around to face the two of them. "Safe travels, both of you. I'll find a way to keep in touch."

She leans forward to hug Emma, then, and Emma reciprocates the gesture readily. Killian does his best to grant them their privacy, hand drawing in his coat to pull out his hook. He detaches the prosthetic and attaches the hook in one fluid motion, reasoning that he'll need it if he's to climb a beanstalk.

He's missed the hook, he has to admit. It's become a part of him over the years, one he's rarely eager to part from.

"Stay safe," he hears Red tell Emma. "You too, _Captain Hook_."

Killian looks up at the call, only to find her still grinning. "Aye. You too, lass."

Red heads back in the direction of the camp, red cloak swaying behind her. Emma watches her go a little wistfully, but Mulan wastes no time at all in informing them what they're to do next.

-/-

"Here," Mulan offers, holding up a bag and two dark leather cuffs in her hands. "You'll be needing these."

Emma raises her eyebrows. "Are we...planting seeds for the beanstalk? With friendship bracelets?"

Mulan chuckles, shaking her head. "This dust..." she raises the bag.

Killian snickers. "Ah, we've had good experiences with dust."

Emma elbows his side lightly, but hard enough for him to get the point. "The dust," she repeats Mulan's words. "Ignore him."

Mulan does just that, a good sport if she's ever seen one. "This...powder made from poppies. The giant has to inhale it."

"Knocks him out?" Emma questions.

"If it does the job right," Mulan nods. "As for the cuffs…"

Emma's eyes flicker to Killian, hoping beyond hope that he won't decide to bring up the time they were tied together and asked a villager to get them out of a...personal situation. It was a better excuse, at the time, than admitting Aurora - who apparently Mulan has a history with, more reason for it not to be brought up - tied them together and threw them in her shop's basement.

Now that she thinks about it, she can't help but give Aurora props for strength. Lugging the two of them into the basement couldn't have been easy work. The powder she used - maybe the same kind that Mulan is offering now, alluding even more to a past she isn't keen on digging up - must have knocked them out good, too, if they didn't even wake up when they were roughly deposited into a cellar.

"Emma?" Mulan asks, breaking her out of her train of thought.

"Right, sorry."

"Is your mind wandering to...fonder memories?" Killian proposes, grinning.

There it is. He had to bring up the stupid sex dust, now it's the awkward bondage.

A heroic quest, this surely has been.

"The cuffs," Emma says exasperatedly.

"The giants spelled the beanstalk to repel intruders. These cuffs contain the counterspell, allowing you to climb the beanstalk," she holds them both out in her hand, the other grasping the powder. "Each of you need to take one and put it on."

Emma does just that, grabbing it and slipping it on her wrist. Killian frowns for a moment, eyes shifting to his wrist, before Emma realizes the predicament he's in. It'd be a pain in the ass for him to put on a cuff on his hand one-handed, especially when the brace he's wearing doesn't allow for much room on the other arm. She grabs the other one from Mulan as well, taking his hand and sliding it on his wrist easily before he can even think too much about it.

"There," Emma exhales, eyes flicking up to meet his with a small smile. "Done - even matches your outfit."

He gapes at her for a moment, gratefulness in his eyes that quickly gives way to his usual bravado. "Well, love, black is my color."

Her grin widens as she leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "Leather, too."

"Our favourite," he nods, laughter escaping his lips as his arms fall around her. Her hands fist in his collar, feeling the material in question. "Lucky, that."

Mulan lifts the powder in her hand, waiting patiently for them to acknowledge her. "Here's this, too."

Emma flushes, a little embarrassed at the display of affection, but Killian takes the powder with a small nod of gratuity. "Thanks, lass."

"What I'm here for," Mulan replies easily. "I wish you both safe travels and good luck."

"Thank you," Emma says, holding out her hand for the woman to take. She isn't certain if she'd be receptive to hugging - Emma didn't used to be a hugger, she swears that some people bring it out in her - but she understands enough to not force it on the woman. "For everything."

Mulan shakes her head with a small smile, "Of course. It's as Red said, we're family. This is what family does for each other."

"Yours would be proud of you," Emma responds, voice sincere. Killian steps back, allowing them to have their moment. "Beyond just us, I mean. Your parents would be proud of the person you are. I hope you get to see them again soon."

Mulan hugs her, then. Emma pats her back with a grin, having hoped she'd come around.

"Stay safe," Mulan instructs, echoing everyone else's words to her.

"Yeah, yeah," Emma replies. "We'll try not to get eaten by giants."

-/-

It's only half a day's trip to the beanstalk, much to their relief. Emma's legs still cramp from all the walking (she should really be used to it, by now, but that brief bout of sickness still has her feeling not completely up to snuff). It's still light outside when they end up at the base of an impressive looking, spiraling beanstalk that's nothing short of nightmare fuel.

"You know," Emma sighs, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looks up at it. It looks prickly and menacing, towering over them like this. "They used to tell stories about this beanstalk, when I was a kid."

"Aye?"

"This one is a lot creepier," she notes. "I know the gist - giants stole stuff, wouldn't share their magic beans, and were generally... mean, Jack killed them in a big battle, now there's only one. They used to tell it as a kid's story. Changed it around, so that Jack wanted a golden goose and then the giants chased after her and...yeah. Obviously, that's not the real story, but they tried making it more youth-friendly."

"A lovely tale," Killian replies, fiddling with his hook. It looks like he's getting used to it again, having spent weeks without it on. "But, as you note, the truth is more gruesome."

"Yeah," Emma grimaces. "It is. Hopefully, it's not that gruesome this time around. We just need to get what we need and go."

"Your compass awaits," Killian tells her, grinning as he rocks back and forth on his heels. He looks proud of himself for the line, eyes fixed on her rather than up at the beanstalk.

"Chariot or bust," Emma teases back, snickering. It says something that they're able to be light about this, given that they're about to enter a giant's den. Killian makes it easier, makes everything seem a little less grim.

"Princesses," he replies in mock-derision, shaking his head dramatically. "The greedy sort, they are."

"This coming from a pirate?"

"Point taken."

Her eyes go back to the beanstalk, eyeing it with trepidation. She isn't much of a climber, aside from a few trees when she was a kid and attempting to evade a few close brushes with the guards. Emma has scaled fences when it meant fleeing from prosecution for stealing when she was a teenager. Beanstalks are another matter entirely. "So, we just have to maneuver our way around an evil giant and dig into his dead family's treasure to find a magical compass. How hard can that be, really?"

He lifts his eyebrows. "Well, Swan, I've seen you achieve the impossible more than once. We found the box…"

"Too soon," she says quickly, shuddering. "Found it and got it burned to a crisp minutes later. It's not exactly an encouraging memory."

"Well," Killian sighs. "We just need to be on alert for lanterns and fire, an easy enough task. I'm confident we'll be able to get the compass and get out unscathed. Compasses are a bit less flammable, aye?"

Emma gives him a small smile. "Aren't you an optimist?"

"Hard to see anything but brightness with you at my side, Swan."

-/-

The cuffs, as it turns out, make climbing _possible_ on the beanstalk. But they don't make it easy. Emma has to steady her breaths as she tries clinging to vines, putting her feet in the right places that won't cause her to fall right off the damn thing.

"First beanstalk?" Killian questions, grinning broadly from above her. Emma can only roll her eyes at his enthusiasm. "You never forget your first."

"What? Is this _not_ your first?" Emma asks, raising her eyebrows as she grapples for the next vine. Climbing is strenuous, as it turns out, and it isn't exactly a good time. It's a good thing she doesn't have a fear of heights, or the thought of the drop below her alone could scare the hell out of her. "I didn't know pirates liked to travel by beanstalk."

He chuckles. "There's many an adventure to be had on land, lass."

"That's not an answer," Emma retorts. "How many beanstalks? One? Two? Three?"

"None," Killian finishes. "At least, not by firsthand account. There were legends even when I was a lad, though - so you know that means a _very_ long time ago - of the giants who lived there."

"The gruesome kind?"

"Aye," he nods, hook sticking into another part of the beanstalk. "The gruesome kind, though it was long before Jack the Giant Slayer. Tales of the giants eating humans, crushing their bones, all that loveliness. Stories weren't as friendly back then, I suppose. Or perhaps it was just more of a sign of my surroundings than the times."

Emma frowns. She knows his childhood wasn't exactly the stuff of warmth and contentment, but it still makes her heart a little heavy to hear, nonetheless. Her childhood was messy and far from ideal, but at least childhood stories provided some escapism. Then, there were stories of the Savior and all of her future heroic deeds and -

Now she _is_ a story. The realization doesn't get any less weird, no matter how many times she's had it.

Emma sighs heavily.

"You alright, love?"

"Fine," she nods, the path upwards getting a little easier the further up she gets. The vines get closer together, the gaps in the stalk easier to rest her feet in. "I think I remember some of the stories about Jack and the beanstalk from when I was a kid."

"Oh?" he asks, voice tinged with interest. "Do tell, love."

She isn't the best storyteller - can only mutter something about a cow and a harp and a young girl who wanted a hen for her mother to feed herself or however she remembers the bits and pieces of it all - but he listens to every word of it.

-/-

They finally make it to the top of the beanstalk, not too long afterwards.

The first thing Killian takes note of is how gray everything looks - a stark contrast to the cerulean sky he was just exposed to. Here, everything is muted and colorless. The cobblestone is gray, discarded giant armor from a war fought long ago is a dull silver, and the ceiling above them looks like it's cracking in several places. Absurdly large bones - presumably from dead giants - litter the area.

It's an eerie sight, one that corroborates the darker tales rather than the lighter ones that Emma spoke of.

"Must have been where the final battle was," Emma murmurs, eyes flitting around.

"Aye," he agrees, frowning. "It was."

They stand there, for a moment, studying the sight around them, before Killian takes note of something else.

"Give me your hand," Killian instructs, leaning over to take a better look at the limb in question. It looks red, perhaps with blood, and it makes his brow furrow in concern. It'd be easy to slice something on that beanstalk, they'd passed a few more unforgiving thorns. The advantages of having a hook, he supposes, is that his brushes with the more prickly bits of the beanstalk were halved.

Emma frowns in confusion before her eyes flicker down to the hand in question, lifting it up with her palm facing the sky as if she wasn't even aware of the wound's existence.

"Your hand," he presses again, walking closer to her until he's hovering in her space, near to where her hand is splayed in the air. "It's cut. Let me help you."

"No, no. It's fine," Emma shakes her head dismissively, shrugging it off as if it's nothing. It's not out of character for her, of course, to dismiss her own well-being for the sake of what lies ahead. For the sake of others, who she deems more important.

(She's wrong, of course, completely wrong about her own worth and safety and -

well, he's working on rectifying it, one gesture at a time.)

Killian tuts before she can slide her hand back to her side and ignore it, hook sliding around her wrist and pulling her closer in one smooth movement. "No, it's not."

She sighs, but stays in place all the same. Her expression is wry, tinged with exasperation. "You have to be a gentleman, don't you?"

"Giants can smell blood," Killian teases, leaning close to her as if he's telling her a particularly coveted secretly. He's not certain of that fact in the slightest, of course, but any excuse will do. An injury is an injury - Emma has helped him take care of enough of his. It's the least he can do to return the favor, to ensure that Emma isn't suffering on the latest bout of their quest. If beanstalk climbing causes her to get scratches, then scratches he shall treat.

He grapples for his flask in his coat, for a brief moment. He slides the cork of it out with his teeth - his eyes pinned to hers - before spitting it out onto the worn cobblestone.

She swallows, hard. He doesn't pretend not to notice, only grins slightly in response.

Killian props her hand up further for his examination, tilting his head to the side as he looks at it. It's a shallow cut, easily remedied by a bit of rum to clean it and something to keep the blood from making a right bloody mess of things. He pours the rum over the cut and she winces, hissing.

"Sorry, love."

"It's fine," she says through gritted teeth. "Can we go, now?"

Killian laughs, shaking his head as he grabs his scarf from around his neck. His hook is still keeping her hand in place, curled around her wrist. He wraps the scarf around the cut a few times, just enough so that there's loose fabric for him to tie left hanging. He brainstorms aloud, in the meantime."Here's the plan. We wait for the giant to fall asleep. When he does, we'll sneak past him into his cave."

"It's where the treasures are," Killian is a sailor - has plenty of experience tying knots one handed - so he gets set to work, "where the compass lies."

His words come out a bit breathy, towards the end, before he dips his head down to catch his scarf with his teeth in order for him to tie the makeshift bandage in place. Emma's eyes are burning into his for the duration of his handiwork, heavily-lidded and a tad lustful if he isn't mistaken - and he bites back a comment about how she already knows what he's capable of with his mouth.

She exhales. "And then?"

"And then we run like hell," Killian finishes, tucking the ends of the scarf into place. He holds her hand, for a moment, his hook still stationed at her wrist. Emma squeezes his hand once before grimacing at the pain the motion causes to the cut. He shakes his head knowingly, running his fingers lightly over her palm in a soothing gesture.

"We don't have time to wait for a giant to fall asleep," Emma points out. "The powder Mulan gave us...we need to use it. We gotta knock him out."

"Well, that's riskier," he says, shrugging slightly.

Emma raises her eyebrows dubiously. "Than waiting for a giant to fall asleep when we need him to?"

He's filled with a rush of affection for her, then. "Point taken," he slips his hook from her wrist and his hand from hers to rummage in his satchel. He pulls out the powder in question. She takes it from him, tucking it into her own bag with a nod of thanks. "You're a tough lass, love. I've told you you'd make a hell of a pirate, haven't I?"

Emma rolls her eyes. "There's no need to flatter me, you know. We're together."

Killian makes an affronted noise in the back of his throat, He tucks his arms around her waist, pulling her close. "Please, Swan," he kisses her temple, "it's hardly flattery if it's the truth."

She rolls her eyes again, but it's rooted more in affection than anything else. She sets her injured hand on his chest, sighing deeply as her forehead presses against his. "Thank you for the...for the helping me with the cut."

"As if I wouldn't treat your every bruise for as long as you'll allow me to, Swan," he says, eyes fixed to hers. "In comparison to the sickness you just recovered from not long ago? Merely a scratch, love. Happy to help."

Her lips curl into a soft smile, at that. "Thanks. Thanks for letting me bleed all over your scarf too, by the way."

"Oh, this?" he wrinkles his nose, curling his lips up in distaste as his hand moves to lift up her injured one. "Hardly ever wear these - only did so I could cover up those lovely souvenirs," he gestures with his hook to his exposed neck, where numerous bruises were left from her lips. "Wasn't sure if your family would be receptive to the sight of them. Rather defeated the point of staying silent only to advertise it the next morning."

Emma flushes at the realization. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be," he grins. "Badges of honor, they are. Now where do you suppose this giant is?"

-/-

Emma ends up stationed at the top of an intimidating-looking statue (the giant, she guesses, is around this size), knockout powder in one hand and the other steadying her on the shoulder of the damn thing. She needs a good point of surprise, where she can easily throw it right in the giant's face when the time comes. Emma is hardly tall enough to manage it from down below, but she managed to find a good place up here.

Killian, of course, offered to be the distraction.

"You ready, love?" he asks, peering up at her and looking roughly the size of an ant from this vantage point. He has a big bone in his hand - one that looks as if it's a remnant of one of the giants.

"Yeah," Emma exhales, nodding.

He takes this as all the cue he needs to lift the bone and strike it against a giant shield. It reverberates through the top of the beanstalk, making her grip the statue a little tighter. A loud, thudding noise follows - one enormous footstep after another - until the giant in all of his glory appears in front of them.

The giant is a lot bigger than she imagined.

"Oh, damn it," she hisses, clinging to the statue. Emma feels a pang of fear for Killian, down below, bait for an angry giant.

"Oi! Hey, you big git!" he goads, walking backwards. The giant takes this as all the cue he needs, stepping closer and closer to him. "Yeah, you! Huh? You want to kill a human, huh?"

He's an idiot, he really is - Killian is supposed to distract the giant, not torment him and get himself killed. She steadies her hand on the powder, getting ready to throw it.

"You want to kill a human? I'm the worst human around, come on!" this line has her furrowing her forehead in concern, hoping it's more of another part of distraction than actual self reflection. It's a line that's familiar, though, from the pages of his logs. "Come on, come on then! Come on then!"

Killian walks - runs - away from the giant, attempting to lead him right into the trap. It works, once the giant turns in her direction with his face colored in anger, she throws the powder right in his face. He comes crashing down with a thud and she sighs in relief, grateful the worst is over.

That is, until she realizes she can't see Killian. She flounders, for a moment, concern seeping into her features. "Killian? Killian!"

"Ah, he's out cold," he announces, appearing from the giant's shadow just in time as he looks up at her. She sighs in relief, the feeling filling her from head to toe.

"Don't scare me like that," she warns. "I thought he'd crushed you, for a moment there."

Killian laughs, at that, and Emma wants to get down from this stupid statue just to reprimand him for it. "I didn't mean to upset you, Emma. You've nothing to worry about, so long as we're working together. We make quite the team, always have."

Emma just shakes her head, adjusting her grip on the stone. He walks closer until he's right at the base of it. "Want to help me get down this damn thing?"

"Lower yourself right into my waiting arms, love."

She scoffs lightheartedly. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't let me fall, please."

"Never," he promises, grinning up at her.

-/-

They're intent on finding the compass before the giant inevitably awakens, rummaging through pile after pile of the giant's treasures. The beanstalk is overflowing with wealth, everything in shades of gold and gemstones littering the premises. Killian finds himself sorely tempted, more than once, to fill his satchel with some of it. He lifts a piece of gold, a coin that seems ancient, to his nose and grins as he rubs it between his thumb and forefinger.

He's missed piracy, a bit. Some aspects of it, at least.

"All this gold," Emma shakes her head. "This place has gotta be like...paradise for pirates."

Killian stills the hand that's rolling the piece of gold between his fingers. There are other things he'd miss more. "Don't suppose you'd like to restock, then? I wonder how much treasure we could carry down the beanstalk."

"The only treasure I want is the compass," Emma retorts pointedly. "Leave the plundering for another day, swashbuckler."

He raises his eyebrows at her, pocketing the piece all the same. She doesn't chastise him for it, likely knows him well enough not to bother by now. A slow grin spreads across his face at her words - commanding and teasing all at once. "Ah, the compass and you are all the treasure I need, lass."

"I think you've used that one before," she says, crossing her arms. Emma looks amused, at least. "The treasure line, anyway."

"Have I?" he frowns, cocking his head in contemplation. "Unfortunate, that. I hardly enjoy being repetitive."

Emma snickers. "And how many women have you called 'treasure'? Or 'darling' or 'love' or whatever other pet names you alternate between?"

He walks backwards, keeping his eyes on Emma. "None I've treasured nearly as much as you, Swan."

Killian takes another step back, grinning fondly at her.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," she races forward just enough to grab him by the hand, pulling him into her and wrapping her arms around his waist. He chuckles, embracing her tightly in return. He presses his lips down to hers with a wide grin, giving her a firm kiss. Killian assumes this was her intention, at least, given the way she'd grabbed him.

She reciprocates, though it takes her a moment to do so. He's baffled by the sudden display of affection, but he's hardly going to complain about it. Emma pulls back much too quickly for his tastes. "Stay still, alright? It's a trip wire, I wasn't just...unable to keep my hands off you."

"Weren't you? That's a plausible excuse for grabbing me," he teases her, pressing another kiss to her cheek. She scoffs, but it's more good natured than anything else, "but next time don't stand on the ceremony. I'm always willing to receive your affections, Swan."

Emma groans, stepping back from his embrace. She gestures to the trip wire he almost fell into, then to the cage that hangs ominously above them. If not for her intervention, he'd be trapped. "Quite a security system."

"I'll say," he agrees with a nod, carefully stepping over the wire one foot at a time. "Careful, love."

"You're telling _me_ to be careful," Emma grumbles, shaking her head as she follows his movements. "Let's just find the compass and figure out what to do from there."

-/-

Searching through all the gold doesn't get much easier, Emma finds.

Killian may be blissful - a pirate surrounded by jewels and splendor and whatever pirates can't get enough of - but she's so _tired_ of searching for magical objects to defeat Regina. All she can hope for is that this one doesn't end up burning down to nothing like the last one.

If they want to find it before the giant wakes up grumpy from his afternoon nap, they're going to need to be quick.

They search high and low, but with no luck. Emma stops in front of a small cage that looks as if it's roughly sized for humans, gold hanging off of its sides and over the top of it. "So, it's just in here somewhere?"

Killian ambles next to her, eyeing the cage speculatively. "Allegedly. Would you like for me to give you a boost? Perhaps the compass is somewhere on the top of this contraption."

Emma frowns, looking up at it. Her hand tightens around one of its bars. "Alright. We'll have to work fast - who knows how long before the.."

As if on cue, heavy footsteps sound. Treasure clatters around them, the ground rocks under their feet, and Emma resists the urge to roll her eyes and let out a _'Seriously?'_. Killian takes her hand immediately, eyes widening.

"Someone's up," he says, stating the obvious. Killian tugs her forward, running in the opposite direction of the noise. "Quickly, get under something."

They don't have time to do that, don't have time to do much of anything, before the giant thunders closer and closer to them. A piece of ceiling debris caves in at the giant's earth-shaking footsteps, landing right on top of Killian and forcing his hand to leave hers.

"Killian!" she exclaims, panicked. Her worry is only somewhat alleviated by an answering grunt under the rubble, but she doesn't have time to dig him out before she's lifted up.

Lifted up by the hand of a very, very angry giant.

It's just her luck, really.

-/-

"I'm not what you think!" is the first thing Emma can think of to say, panicking and squirming in the grip of a hand that's twice her size. The giant could crush her to dust, easily, and she isn't anxious to meet her fate as a thin, powdery film on a giant's shoe.

He's unaffected by her protest, sounding as if he can hardly believe her nerve. "You're a thief, and you poisoned me, so yeah, I'm pretty sure you're exactly what I think."

"No," well, yes, that's exactly the case and he's exactly right - she's a thief intent on a compass and she threw knockout powder in his face. "Look, you have a compass. I need it."

"I don't care what you need," the giant grunts, unimpressed. He squeezes her, just a bit, and she can feel her breathing being constricted.

Emma is _not_ going to die like this, damn it.

"No," she protests, rasping the words out, "for my family! To find a way to save my family!"

Emma thinks of Ingrid and Red and Lancelot and Guinevere and all the rest. She thinks of the parents she's never met. She thinks of Geppetto, who still must be sharpening swords back in his village.

She thinks of Killian, buried under rubble that she needs to get him out of.

Her voice is pleading, desperate. "Don't you have a family?"

"No," he rebuffs coldly, "Because humans killed them all."

The giant squeezes tighter and tighter, cutting off her breathing until her vision becomes blurry. It's becoming more and more evident that she could die, like this, die just trying to get to a stupid compass just after she promised everyone that she'd stay safe and Killian would be the next to be crushed if the giant was determined enough to go after him (which he would be, given Killian's goading) and -

Emma does the only thing she can think of to do.

She bites down hard on the giant's hand. It's a gross thing to do, but it beats being dead. He drops her immediately and she scrambles, running away from large, thundering footsteps and grabbing a sword from a human skeleton that she's really hoping belonged to Jack the Giant Slayer.

She could use some giant slaying, right now.

Emma jumps over the tripwire as the giant races after her, bringing the sword down in one swift movement. The trap he's set, as it turns out, works just fine. Even if he's the one in it.

"Nice security system. Efficient," she rasps, pointing the sword between the bars and towards the giant's face.

"No. No! No! No! No! " the giant lets out a string of pleas, making her stop in her tracks.

"I can tell by your face you know what this is. Let me guess... it's dipped in some sort of poison," she notes, turning the sword over in her hand. The giant nearly crushed her to death - she'd feel worse about threatening him if she hadn't be that close to being killed. " You have a compass. I need it."

"You're going to kill me either way," the giant replies, sounding defeated. "Go ahead. Kill me."

Emma frowns. Threatening someone who nearly killed you is one thing, killing them is another. "You don't know me."

"I know your kind. They massacred us, and destroyed our beans."

"I heard it the other way," she retorts, eyes narrowing. Light or dark, the story was always the same. The giants were the aggressors, the ones chasing after humans and either crushing them or eating them. Emma almost fell into the crushed category.

"That's because the victors get to tell the story," the giant replies.

She finds this kind of rich, coming from the guy who nearly killed her. Emma draws the sword closer to him.

"Okay! Stop. Here," the giant throws something from his pocket, letting it clatter to the ground outside of the cage. Emma's eyes widen when she notices what exactly it is - the compass. "See? I'm not the bad guy."

Emma considers this, studying him for a moment. She checks him for any hint of a lie, searching for any obvious tells. She finds none. "Maybe you are telling the truth."

The giant just looks somber in response.

"Doesn't really matter. I have to go," Emma sighs, thinking of where Killian is still trapped. "Are there any more of you? "

"No," he replies, simply and sadly. "I'm alone."

The thought sends a pang to her chest. Emma feels oddly sympathetic to the giant that nearly killed her less than five minutes ago. She thought there was only one giant, sure, but there's something exceptionally sad about being the only one of your family, of your kind left.

All because some assholes came into your home and killed all of your people.

She feels a little tainted, using the sword of Jack the Giant Slayer. The name has a different meaning, now. She only uses it to gesture to the necklace he's wearing that hangs out of the cage.

"What's this? Is this a bean? Can this make a portal?"

It's asked more out of curiosity than anything else. She doesn't exactly need to portal-jump to other realms, but magic beans are rare enough to raise eyebrows at. Especially considering the giants or the humans or whoever allegedly destroyed them all.

"Not anymore," he replies. "It was destroyed like the rest of them. I wear it as a reminder... a reminder that you're all killers."

His voice is tinged with bitterness, sadness too. It's understandable, given everything.

Emma points her sword back to him. He winces, but she lowers it soon after. "You're wrong." she tells him, curtly.

There may be humans who are killers, humans who are evil, humans who relish in the suffering of others - whether that be other humans or giants or whatever the laundry list of creatures in this damn world include. There are humans who choose to be like that, who choose the darker path or have it chosen for them. Emma vows never to be one of them.

She may have been a thief, may have had her low points, but she was never a killer. And if she's supposed to be the Savior - the person who is supposed to fight back against cruelty and hatred and slaughter - then it starts with this. Proving, one step at a time, that people can choose better for themselves, that there's a better path to take. Proving that it's possible to help rather than hurt, spare rather than slaughter.

The giant has to be telling the truth - about his family and humans and all the pain that came with it. She could see it in his eyes, has always prided herself on her ability to see through lies. That just makes what she's doing that much more important. If evil people can do this much damage to an entire species, it says something pretty deplorable about the human condition as a whole.

And it's her job - one that she reluctantly accepted, but did nonetheless - to fix that.

The next thing she knows, the giant is breaking free from the cage and towering over her. Emma walks backwards quickly and a little panicked, grip firm on the sword in her hands, as she stares up at him. The giant picks up a large boulder - one he could easily, easily crush her to death with - and she's almost ready to say her last words.

That is, until he throws it aside to make a hole more than large enough for her to escape the place through.

"Go," he instructs, tucking an absurdly large piece of hair behind his ear. Emma stares at the large chip in the giant's home in disbelief.

"Why?" she asks, unable to help herself.

"Because you could've killed me, and you didn't," he says the words matter-of-factly, almost shyly, and she can't help but feel another pang of sympathy for him. "You get one favour. Now go, before I change my mind."

Her feet remain fixed to where she is. Emma thinks of Killian, still stuck under a pile of rubble. "Actually…I get two favors."

She says it firmly, unwaveringly. Because if there's one thing she's sure of, it's that she isn't going to leave behind the man who never left her. Killian had every opportunity to give up and leave and he didn't.

Emma has known for a while now that she'd do the same in a heartbeat.

"What?" the giant asks, perplexed.

"Well," Emma shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. She's trying to push her luck and Killian's right along with it, "the way I see it, I could've killed you twice... the poison and when you were knocked out. I didn't. "

The giant sighs. "What do you want?"

Emma can't hold back her grin.

-/-

It's the first time she's faced off against a giant, Emma has to say.

It's also the first time she's ended up trapping a giant in his own security system, threatened him with a sword, and was nearly strangled in one absurdly large hand. This is business as usual for the Savior - or it should be by now - but there's something even stranger about the fact she ended up bonding with the giant over loneliness.

Emma feels sorry for the giant, when all is said and done. At the end of the day, he was just a guy screwed over by the wrong people. His family is all dead, slaughtered in battle, and all that was left was him. The last of his species, apparently. He even gave her the compass.

She makes a mental note to visit him, when all of the craziness is over, just to alleviate some of that loneliness and to say thank-you. Maybe he'd be open to allowing some recreational climbers from the kingdom, or something. People to visit, people to keep him company. Emma isn't sure how receptive Killian would be to the idea of coming back with her, but -

Emma walks towards the pile of rocks carefully, hoping with everything she has that he's okay. He has to be okay, she feels like she'd know if he wasn't, like there'd be a sign beyond just a pile of rocks and silence.

"Killian?" she tries cautiously, just steps away from the rocks.

"Mind giving me a hand?" comes an answering grunt. She could nearly cry with relief as she races over to where he is, reaching in the debris for the ring-covered hand (one looks new because of course it does - of course he'd steal jewelry from a beanstalk then proceed to put it on while she wasn't looking) and tugging.

"You are bloody brilliant," Killian praises, clutching her hand as she drags him from the rubble. "Amazing, but I've always known that. Bested a giant, did you?"

Emma laughs, shaking her head. His hand comes up to cup her face, thumb pressing into her cheek. He gives her a slight nod of encouragement and a small smile. "Honestly? Not the meanest guy in the world."

Killian raises his eyebrows. "You befriended the giant?"

"Maybe," she teases, the corners of her mouth upturning. "And I have the compass. Wanna see it?"

He nods quickly, leaning back to allow her to fish it out of her pocket. "What do you suppose it'll do? Point us towards some weapon, perhaps? One powerful enough to allow us to defeat the queen once and for all."

"I don't know," Emma brow pinches as she brings the compass out for him to examine. "It's…"

"More beautiful than legend, it is."

His hand cups hers under the compass, carefully examining it. The hand of the compass whirls round and round, seemingly deciding what it's going to do. Emma frowns at it. "It stopped a minute ago…"

"Perhaps both of our hands are confusing it," he murmurs, retracting the limb in question. "It can only answer one individual's desires."

Sure enough, the hand of it stops. It's in a different direction than before, though, pointing straight ahead. It points right at him. Emma moves to stand, attempting to see what direction the compass is trying to lead her in, but it gives her a perplexing result.

"All it does is point towards you," Emma mutters, pacing a little bit to test it. The point remains fixed on where Killian is. "Try moving around," she instructs.

Killian complies with a baffled expression, standing up and walking a short distance leftwards of her. The compass tracks his movements, as if he's exactly what it's searching for.

"That's weird," Emma observes, cocking her head to the side. "That's really weird."

"Let me try it," he coaxes, slipping his hand under hers and making the compass spin once more. It's making her head spin, watching the hand of it revolve in fast circles. It's making her head spin watching it point at him, too. Either way, the compass has her confused beyond belief.

Emma complies, letting her hand slide from under it. She holds her breath, as much as she tries not to.

As soon as her hand leaves it, the hand of the compass points directly at her. Killian moves to test it, too, but it remains stubborn.

Emma never thought she'd be this unwilling to cope with the romantic repercussions of nautical equipment.

(Maybe this is what she gets for choosing a pirate as her partner - prying him away from stolen goods and trying to reason why a magical compass points to each other instead of at any potential Regina defeating deus ex machinas.)

"It points towards what you want most," he observes quietly, eyes fixed on the face of the compass. "That's what the she wolf said, yes?"

Emma gapes at the realization, though she knows she knew it already - even if she was unwilling to put it in those terms. Her throat is dry and her heart is pounding. She tries speaking once, twice, and finally succeeds on the third. "So, it points towards you for me and...me for you."

He presses his lips together thoughtfully, brow furrowing. Killian's eyes lift up to meet hers, light and contemplative. He gives her a closed mouthed grin, soft and subtle. "I suppose that means we should never lose each other, aye?"

Killian is using humor to deflect the situation and she can't help but be grateful. Still, it's overwhelming. She swallows, backing up a step. This is too much, way too much, and the last thing she needs is a compass to further complicate things. It was supposed to make things simpler, the path to defeating Regina clearer.

Emma frowns, eyes flickering down to the compass once more. Killian folds it behind his back, walking up to her and sliding his other arm around her back.

"You alright, love?" he asks, carefully. Killian is being cautious, incredibly cautious, and she knows the reason why. He knows her, knows how skittish she can be about things like this, knows how much she just wants to get this mission done once and for all. He meets her skittishness with cautiousness, slipping the compass into the pocket of his coat and bringing his hand up to her cheek with a gentleness fit for touching glass.

She sighs, leaning into his touch. He makes it almost easy when everything should be anything but. "I'm just...I can't do this right now, can't…"

"I understand," he murmurs, forehead sliding against hers and eyes on her eyes. It sounds like he does, the words nearly a whisper. "I understand. We don't have to talk about that right now, love. We'll just move on, aye? We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Emma nods shakily, hands coming up to slide on his back. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds...that sounds good. I'm sorry for this."

His brow furrows as he leans back to look at her. "Sorry for what, Swan?"

Sorry for being afraid, sorry for panicking, sorry for not being able to deal with magical compasses directing her towards Killian as the thing she wants most (and vice versa, which almost makes it harder to handle). He's being so understanding, too understanding.

She thinks of Ingrid's words about not being able to accept how she feels because of how she's been treated in the past. She can't live in the past forever.

But it's hard when she just wants to dig her heels in, just wants to stick to where she feels comfortable. Killian makes her comfortable, but she's so habituated to doing things on her own the alternative still takes getting used to.

Especially if it means their next hope for finding a way to defeat Regina is useless and just points them to each other.

(If this stupid magical compass is supposed to be giving them a life lesson on teamwork, Emma wishes it would have found another way to express the same sentiment _and_ actually be of use.)

"I just wish…" she sighs. "I wish this were easier."

"The compass or dealing with Regina?"

"Both," Emma manages, shrugging. "I wish we could just find a way, use it, and be on our way. So I can just...everyone can be safe, I can meet my parents, and we could just…" she sighs, lips pressing together contemplatively. She doesn't let herself think too much about the future, too much about what's so out of reach. But Killian, with his unwavering faith and stupid enchanted compass, makes it hard not to envision it all. What they could do, once their focus isn't quite as intent on simply staying alive.

There's so much she's always wanted to do.

"I wish we could get away, for a little while," Emma reveals, "once the dust settles and everything is over. Take your ship and just leave for a few months."

"I could show you so many things," he smiles and it's bittersweet, to speculate about what they might never be able to have. "You haven't left this kingdom, have you? There are so many places to visit, love, so many sights and sounds and experiences - you'd love it. With your adventurous spirit, you'd live for it. Lots of people about to help if the urge gets too mighty, of course."

"Of course," she echoes, grinning. Emma feels a fierce longing in her chest, anxious for the future and what it all could bring. Less intense adventures, but adventures all the same. She's heard legends of Agrabah and Arendelle and all the rest - stories of false princes and strong queens. She's writing her own story, now, an attempt to fight back against the queen, but it's -

It'd be nice, one day, to not have to worry about impending doom and instead worry over travel plans.

(One factor stays the same - Killian at her side.)

"One day," he says, hand coming up to brush away a strand of her hair. "Once we're off this bloody beanstalk that is. Our giant friend may not be hospitable for long."

"Right," Emma nods quickly. "You have the compass?"

Killian pats his satchel. "Aye, right here. It could come in handy if we were to lose each other."

"Yeah," Emma nods in agreement, smile a little tight with emotion, with nervousness, with all of it. "It could."

-/-

They end up at an inn, one closest to the beanstalk. This village, at least, seems to have a sparse amount of guards. All they have to do is pretend to be so enraptured that they can't keep their hands off of each other and the innkeeper hands over a key to a room as soon as Killian detaches his lips from hers enough to slide a bit of gold over.

(It helps people ask less questions, at least. And to be fair, it's not as much pretending anymore.)

They bump into a patron at the inn while stumbling into each other - one dressed far too well to be at a place like this - and they both hear parchment scatter on the floor. The man lets out a curse, glaring at them, and Emma immediately feels bad.

"Sorry, sorry about that," Emma apologizes immediately, sinking down to her haunches to try and help the man clean up the mess. Killian follows her movements with an exasperated sigh and they try to collect the parchment in some semblance of an organized manner.

"No," the man protests immediately, snatching the paper from her hands. "I don't need your help, peasants."

 _Peasants?_

Emma immediately stands up, at that, sending him a sour expression.

"Very well then, mate," Killian grunts in response and she swears she sees him slip something into his coat. She looks at him, confused, but he just stands up with a slight grin. "Best be on our way, leave this friendly chap to his clean up, aye?"

"You got it," Emma mutters, grabbing his prosthetic hand - he'd switched the hook out before getting inside of the inn - and tugging him away to walk to the room. He chuckles behind her, fingers tightening around hers, and she keeps her pace quick.

He laughs as soon as they're inside the room.

"Bloke won't be able to attend his ball without an invitation, eh?" Killian jeers, taking the parchment from his coat with a smirk. It's a fancy piece of stationery, complete with delicate calligraphy and a royal seal. It's from the kingdom of Arendelle, it claims.

"You stole his ball invitation?" Emma raises her eyebrows as she strips her coat off.

"He was a git," Killian supplies.

It's a hard thing to argue against. "Let's burn it," she suggests, only half-joking.

"Could come in handy. Say Swan, want to go to a royal ball?" Killian grins, tongue snaking out to lick his lips. "You'd look ravishing in a ballgown, I'd say."

"Yeah, well," Emma groans, stretching out on the bed. She kicks off her boots at the foot of the bed. "I'm too tired to do much of anything, let alone planning for balls that we don't have time for. I just fell from a beanstalk. And so did you. It's a wonder we didn't break anything."

"We fell from about ten feet," he points out, taking off his coat and boots. Killian grabs her shoes, too, sets them in a neat little line with his. Ever focused on cleanliness, Killian is. "Climbed down the rest of the way. We'll be fine - just let me know if your head starts hurting - aye? Don't want you to fall asleep and then not be able to wake up."

"Is that a thing that happens?"

"If you hit your head a bit too hard, it could. Had it happen to a crewmember or two over the years," Killian says, sitting by her side and leaning over to rest his hand on her temple. Emma sighs, leaning into his touch. "That hurt?"

'No," Emma shakes her head. "It doesn't. No headache."

"Good," he replies, a soft smile lighting his features as he moves his hand to rub into her scalp. Slow, gentle circles that feel nice in her hair. "That's good."

Emma reaches for his prosthetic, wrapping her hands around it and attempting to tug her down with him. He remains in place and she nearly pouts.

"I'm exhausted," Emma says. He doesn't stop tracing patterns on her head. " _You_ have to be exhausted. Let's just go to sleep, already. We've established that my head is going to be okay. Your head hurt?"

"No," he shakes his head, expression contemplative. "But there is something…"

"Ribs?" she checks, eyes scanning over him for any hint of injury. Her hand still has his scarf wrapped around it. Emma tugs it off of it as soon as she realizes, eyes skimming over the mostly healed cut. "Sorry to get your scarf bloody."

"Nothing to worry about," he states simply, picking it up and setting it on the bedside table.

"Well, then, what _are_ you worrying about?"

Killian gets up, stepping away from her, and she nearly groans at the loss. "Killian. Sleep. It can wait until morning."

He grabs the invitation he stole from the man in the hallways, bringing it out for her to examine. Emma huffs, sitting up on her elbows to look at him.

"I get it. You stole it, he's going to be pissed, it's poetic justice. But, right now, what I really want to do is sleep."

"Not quite the idea, love."

"Well, then," Emma frowns in confusion. "What?"

"I may not be able to take you to far off places," Killian hums, swinging the parchment back and forth in his hand, "under more peaceful circumstances. But perhaps...Regina would make an appearance at this ball, yes?"

Emma's eyes flit up and down the invitation, unimpressed. "I'd assume so. Cause for her to show off? I think she'd rather die than miss it."

"I hope that's the case," Killian mutters. "Would bode well for us."

"Killian," Emma groans, exasperatedly and a bit affectionately. "What is it?"

He moves to sit next to her on the bed, setting the invitation down and pressing a kiss to her cheek. Emma leans back down on the bed.

"Well," he begins, unbuttoning his vest before he lies down next to her, "the Jolly Roger may not currently be under my care, but I doubt the mermaid and the prince could have strayed far. What do you say we take it out for a bit of a trek, taking us to Arendelle? The queen is weaker on territory that isn't her own and perhaps outsiders know more of her weaknesses than we do. And, well, if she appears we should be able to blend in without too much of a fuss. All the better for determining our next move."

Emma's face twists in confusion, brow furrowing as she turns her head to look at him. "What are you saying?"

Killian grins beside her on the bed, dimples prominent. His arm curls around her waist. "Fancy crashing a ball?"


	17. The Ball

**A/N: IT'S ALIVE! Hey, happy Wednesday! We're back on track, I hope you guys can forgive me for skipping a week - life got kind of crazy last week. A massive thank-you to Ella for reading this over for me. And thank you to you guys for hanging in there with me! Let me know if you enjoy this chapter!**

-/-

They manage to find Killian's ship after only a day of searching ports and docks. Ariel and Eric stayed close, but it seems to be working out for them. No one would ever think of it of being a pirate ship, now, with a young couple in light shades of clothing sitting on the deck of it, sharing fruit and laughing. It's about the least pirate-y thing you'd suspect out of a ship.

Which, Emma guesses, is kind of the point. Regina shouldn't be too suspicious of it, now, so long as it seems more like a merchant vessel and they stay out of the way of the queen's fleet.

"Glad to see your dedication to scurvy prevention," Killian calls from the port as soon as he spots them, shaking his head in a gesture too amused to be disapproving.

Both Eric and Ariel stand straight up at the sound, dropping their fruit and drawing their swords.

"As well as your dedication to other forms of protection," he continues, stepping on the gangplank with a smirk. "Nice to see the two of you again."

"Hook, Emma!" Ariel exclaims excitedly, rushing down to hug Killian before he can even step foot on the actual ship. He lets out a noise of surprise - he's not much of a hugger, with some obvious exceptions - and Ariel practically vibrates with glee as she races down to embrace her as well. Emma takes a step back at the force of it, her arms wrapping around the woman.

"Hello to you too, Ariel," Emma grunts. "How've you been?"

"Great," Ariel replies, beaming as she leans back to look at her. "It's been amazing. Since Killian let us use his ship, it's been…"

"Smooth sailing," Eric finishes, a cheesy sort of smile on his lips.

Killian chortles, finally making his way to the deck of the ship. He looks fondly at his surroundings, his eyes flitting from the sails to the planks of wood underneath his feet. Ariel makes her way back to the ship and Emma follows behind her.

Ariel may have a point, Emma thinks, about how enamored Killian is with this damn ship.

(That he gave up sailing on to help her - the thought makes the panic she felt with the compass flare up again.)

"You've taken good care of her," Killian observes.

"Me?" Ariel wrinkles her nose. "Kind of a weird thing to say, but-"

"I meant the ship."

"Right," Ariel rolls her eyes. "Of course you did. I forgot that whole 'the ship is a woman', thing. That's even weirder, but I should be used to that by now."

Eric grins affectionately at Ariel, leaning back against the edge of the ship. "Thanks, Hook. I think everyone here knows Ariel is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. It's one of the things I love about her."

Ariel softens, a smile once again curling her lips as she walks beside Eric and leans into his side. "I'm so glad I found you again. You have no idea."

Emma resists the temptation to clear her throat before the two of them start making out on deck - with the gooey eyes they're giving each other it could happen in a matter of seconds. Luckily, Eric turns his head to face the two of them before anything can progress further. "What brings you two on deck?"

"We have a favor to ask," Emma says, her voice reluctant. "We kind of need to get to Arendelle within a few days."

"A trek I know this ship can make," Killian adds. "We just need to get to the kingdom and leave - we believe we could find some information about the queen's plans there."

"Of course," Ariel agrees without pause. "It's your ship! Not ours, you were just loaning it to us for a little while-"

"Which we appreciated," Eric emphasizes.

"You can still keep it for a while longer," Killian promises. "Just while we work on dealing with Regina. You can come along with us for the journey to Arendelle, as well, unless you have other plans."

"We are plan-free," Ariel says. "The freest. I've been to Arendelle before, the water was always a little cold so it'd be nice to see it...while not in the water."

"I had friends in Arendelle, years ago," Eric adds, nodding. "I don't know what they're up to, these days, but it'd be interesting to see."

"Great," Emma lets out a sigh of relief. "That makes this a lot easier, then."

"Your cabin is open," Eric informs Killian, tilting his head towards him. "Ariel and I have been in the crew's quarters, mainly. Didn't want to disturb all your stuff."

"I would have assumed Blackbeard would have done so already," Killian replies, grimacing. "I really should clean it, come to think of it. Blackbeard has never been skilled with hygiene."

"Understandable," Eric says with a nod. His eyes go to Emma, his expression thoughtful. "And there should be more rooms open for you, too, I know there's a -"

"Not necessary," Emma shrugs, trying to keep her voice casual. Revealing that she and Killian are sleeping together is a little awkward - especially considering they...weren't actively sleeping together beforehand - but she wants to get to the explanation before Killian can chime in with _'There's plenty of room in my bed for Emma'_ or _'I do hope we don't disturb you with the noise'_ or -

"It's chilly in the wintertime - no sense in making our beds cold, eh Swan? Sharing body heat is quite the practice this time of year."

Or that.

"You're lucky I like you," she grumbles. "Otherwise you'd be overboard for that."

Killian grins widely, unashamed. His arm wraps around her midsection, his nose nuzzling in her hair. "Anything for you, love."

"About time," Ariel mutters, her words low but clear.

Emma shakes her head affectionately, hand running up and down Killian's back. "Thank you guys, for letting us -"

"Use your own ship?" Eric raises his eyebrows. "Nonsense. I just hope you don't mind us tagging along."

"Not at all, mate," Killian says. "It's always helpful to have more hands on deck. Speaking of," he turns to Emma, looking at her thoughtfully, "you ever learn to sail, love?"

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry to say I'm kind of a…. landlubber. Haven't been on a lot of ships - well, any ships," she shrugs. "When I moved around when I was a kid, it was always by foot."

"Ah," he sighs, frowning. "We'll fix that. I'll make a pirate out of you, yet."

"In the meantime," Ariel says, gesturing between herself and Eric, "we'll clean up a little below deck. I'm assuming you know where you need to go, right?"

Killian nods. "Aye - a sailor who doesn't know how to navigate isn't much of a sailor at all, is he?"

Her thoughts go back to the compass tucked into Killian's satchel. Her hand tightens on Killian's back, her eyes going to the water spread out in front of them while she tunes the rest of the conversation out. It's a lot to think about, the compass. What she wants, what he wants - the thought of a future of what they want, if they can even have one.

They need to worry about Regina, the task in front of them, the Dark One - that's still the case. It might _always_ be the case.

But it fills her with equal parts trepidation and anticipation to think of what things will look like if this madness finally does end.

-/-

It's after Killian thoroughly cleans his cabin from all traces of Blackbeard that he gets to what he really wants to do.

"Hand right there," Killian instructs, his hook guiding Emma's hand to one of the spokes. His hand rests over hers on another, fingers threaded through hers until they touch the wood of the wheel. Ariel and Eric are below deck, occupying themselves with gods know what. "And just follow my lead, love. Just remember," he taps his hook against the engravings on the helm, "port and starboard."

"Port and starboard," Emma repeats. "Got it."

He rests his chin in the crook of her neck, his body easily molding around hers. It's a bit of a fantasy of his, he has to admit, to teach her like this. Killian has spent his life on the sea, his life steering and directing and feeling the rocking of the waves under his feet. He knows this ship as well as he knows anything, as well as he hopes to know Emma. To share how to put her under Emma's direction, well - it's a rather satisfactory feeling.

He guides her hands carefully, eyeing the way the sun is setting on the horizon. It'll be night soon, but there's not a sight quite like sunset on the ocean. His lips curve into a smile before he presses a kiss to Emma's shoulder.

"Just make sure I'm not flipping this thing over," Emma mutters, her fingers twitching under his.

"You couldn't do it if you tried," Killian laughs, amused. "If you could, I'd have many a deckhand who would have sent the Jolly Roger to Davy Jones' locker by now."

"You let your deckhands steer?" Emma asks, her voice showing her disbelief.

"They have to learn somehow, hm?"

"I hope you weren't as up close and personal with them," Emma raises her eyebrows, leaning back against him to illustrate her point. Killian chuckles.

"Ah, I can say that I certainly was not," he grins into her neck. "But none of them were quite as pretty, either."

"Smooth," Emma snorts, shaking her head. "You're really into this, aren't you? Teaching your - well, whatever we are - how to sail has to be some sort of fantasy for you."

"The two things I lo-" Killian stops himself before he can say the words, biting his tongue. The two things he loves most. It's not an untrue statement, by any means, but he knows the last thing he needs to do in the wake of her skittishness about the compass is offhandedly declare his love. It's there all the same - it's been there - but it has to wait. There's a right time, there will be a right time for him to say it. "The two things I like the most," he says, trying to mask his sudden pause as a cough.

It was close enough, at least.

(Hardly close at all, but it would have to do.)

Emma just laughs even more. It's a relief to see her this light, this happy, even after all they've been through together. He can't help but compare this Emma to the one he fought with in the forest. She's more relaxed, if the way she leans into his arms is any indication. She's more easily swayed to laugh, to smile, to show mirth and contentment and all of the things she deserves to feel all of the time. Emma has accepted the mantle of Savior, by now, and wears it proudly instead of shirking away from it.

He's struck with a feeling of pride, a warmth that spreads from his heart to his toes. Killian presses another kiss to her leather-clad shoulder.

"You know, if you keep distracting me, we're going to get off course."

"Nonsense, Swan. You're a natural," he beams, looking down at her affectionately. He's barely steering at all, now, her hands doing the guiding on their own. He removes his hand and hook to prove his point. Emma panics for a second until she realizes just how much of a grip she already has. "A quick study if I've ever seen one."

"You're kind of biased," Emma retorts, her words light.

"I'm one of the most - if not the most - known sailors to even set sail, love. If anyone knows anything on the matter, it's me."

"Humble, too."

The line is familiar, by now. Killian tugs his arms around her waist, chin still propped on her shoulder. "Not bragging if it's true, love."

"Fair enough," she grants.

-/-

They're still manning the ship when the moon hangs in the sky, Emma still stationed at the wheel with Killian's occasional assistance. Ariel and Eric come up before too long, making conversation with the two of them until he notices how Emma starts to yawn. He's beginning to feel weariness weighing on himself.

"We should get some rest, love," Killian says, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. She's exhausted, he can see it in her eyes. "We'll still be on schedule if we anchor until morning."

Emma nods, opening her mouth to respond before Ariel interrupts her.

"We can take it over for a few hours, Eric and I just took a nap. We'll get there quicker that way instead of staying anchored for hours at a time."

Killian frowns. "That's not necessary."

"Let us," Eric insists firmly. "You let us stay on the ship. It's the least we can do."

He sighs, lifting his hand and hook up in submission. "Alright, then. But the second you feel weary, drop anchor, aye? Exhausting yourself doesn't help much of anyone at all, believe me."

Ariel gives him a skeptical look, but Eric just nods and pats Killian on the back as he takes over the helm. Killian and Emma step back, heading below deck. He leads her down the stairs with his hand on her lower back. He's anxious to get back to the bed he hasn't slept in what feels like forever, the bed he's known for most of his life, and seeing Emma spread out on his sheets -

"How much rum do you have in here?" Emma asks, interrupting his thoughts. She raises her eyebrows as she lifts up a small cup that reeks of the substance on the desk in front of her, near the stairs they just ascended from. The bottle, of course, isn't far away from the cups. It's a small wonder it's not gone, given the pirates who took over his ship.

She sits down, eyeing the tin cup in her hands contemplatively.

"Ah," he scratches behind his ear, sitting down beside her. "Let's say I found...destructive ways to cope. I used to drink far more than I do now."

"Oh," Emma frowns, setting it back down. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize, love," he says, shucking off his coat. He lifts the bottle of rum up to his nose, sniffing it for good measure. "Ah, even just a few months made it finer."

"Isn't it, like, centuries old?" Emma asks, cocking her head to the side teasingly. She's trying to lighten the mood by jesting about his age, he knows, and she's succeeding.

"Rum runs out, believe it or not," he points out, pouring himself a glass. "This should be fine nonetheless," Killian motions to one of the cups on the table. "I don't suppose you'd like a... nightcap?"

"A nightcap," Emma grins, recognizing the double entendre. "Doesn't rum - uh - make it a little harder for men to…" she searches for the right words, a flush spreading across her cheeks. "Maintain full mast?"

Killian chortles. "I'm better than that, Swan, I'll have you know. Even with several drinks in me, I'm always, able to…" he trails off purposefully, seductively gazing at her underneath his eyebrows in a way meant to make her burn. By the redness that spreads to her chest, he's guessing it's serving its purpose. "Satisfy a lady."

"Wanna bet?" she asks. It's a clear challenge, he knows, and one he's all too eager to take.

"Bad form to dangle a wager in front of a pirate," he scolds, but pours them both a glass nonetheless. "What do you say - three drinks and I show you exactly what I can _maintain_ in my cabin?"

He hands the cup to her and she swallows the whole thing in a second, quirking a brow at him challengingly. "Just three?"

Killian laughs. "Just want a pleasant buzz, love, it's no fun at all if we're barely able to stand."

"Three it is," she grins, the sight almost predatory. He already feels the heat simmering in his belly, the thought of her soft skin on his and her breathy laughter against his ear making him eager.

He pours their drinks.

-/-

Sure enough, after drink number three, they're both feeling airy and more than a little touchy.

"So, Killian," her lips wrap around his name breathily. All he can think of is how much he'd like to hear her say his name in a much different context. Although, perhaps it's not that different, given the way her hand is gliding up his thigh. "How is your nightcap settling in now?"

She palms him through his leathers and his knees hit the desk.

Emma laughs, retracting her hand immediately. "Someone is sensitive. Sure you can handle your rum, Captain?"

"I can more than handle it," he rasps, standing up and leaning over the desk until his lips are flush with her ear. "I can take it all the way back to my cabin. Would you like to wait there for me, love? Imagining what I'm going to do to you once I get inside?"

"Aye, aye, Captain," Emma replies, the grin on her lips nothing less than sultry. She's inches from him, warm and inviting, and he catches himself moving his head - almost just enough to catch her lips. He nearly moans, eyes drooping with lust and breath coming in sharp pants. Emma's smile only broadens as she slips away from him to make her way to his cabin. "I'll be waiting."

Killian nearly trips over the planks before righting himself.

Gods, he's infatuated with this woman.

He chuckles to himself, thumb pressing over his lips before he licks them. Killian's eyes go to the door leading to his cabin.. He hears a thump that he assumes is from her coat hitting the floor and his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head. Killian wastes no time at all striding to the door, opening it and kissing her as soon as he lays his eyes on her.

Emma moans, her hands fisting in his hair, and he shuts the door behind him with his boot before pressing her against it. She reciprocates enthusiastically, her tongue sliding along the seam of his lips. Killian hoists her up without disconnecting her lips from his, hand sliding under her arse as her legs lock around his hips.

"Bed?" he suggests, barely breaking apart from her lips enough to say the word.

"No, no," Emma protests, pressing her lips to his again and fisting her hands in his collar. She stays pressed against the door and drags him further against her. Emma drops one of her legs, grinding down against his arousal. "I need you right now. Here, now. I don't want to wait."

Killian lets out a guttural groan, his head dipping down to rest in the swell of her breasts. He unbuttons her vest hastily, biting lightly against skin when she presses herself harder against him. "You're making this so bloody hard, love."

-/-

"That's the point," Emma rasps, her fingers tangling in his hair and her hips raising once more. He feels so good, just like this, and she feels so pleasantly buzzed. She's never done this before, never trusted someone enough to let herself go with them in this sense. She's still herself - just a little slower, a little more wanting, with a little less of a filter - but she'd never do this with someone she didn't trust. And Killian - she's trusted him with her life numerous times. Trusting him with her body is an easy give.

Her vest finally comes off and she gets to work on his, his lips coming up to suck at the curve of her neck. She muffles a moan and her hands shake as they try to undo the buckles of his stupid vest.

"It's not stupid," he protests, stopping his ministrations enough to reply and chuckling.

And apparently she said that aloud.

Like she said - internally, she hopes - she trusts Killian.

His vest hits the floor and her hand slides to the laces of his pants, too impatient to bother with the already mostly undone shirt he's wearing underneath. Her other leg slides to the floor, barely keeping her standing. Emma undoes them with a tug and Killian grunts as she slides her hands to his ass just to pull down the leather pants down enough to let his cock out of them. One of her hands settles at the base of him, ghosting up and down the length until he grabs her hand and presses it up against the wall.

"Tell me," Killian instructs, his voice guttural. "If you - at any point - want this to stop. If you think I'm going too far."

"We've done this before," Emma protests, threading her hand with his and leaning forward to kiss him. His hook glides to her waist, sliding under her shirt and tracing a cool path against her skin. "We aren't going far enough, right now."

"We're drunk - which we both agreed to be for this, but still. It just makes it that much more important for you to tell me what you need."

"I need," Emma punctuates the words by arching against him, "you. I trust you. Do you trust me?"

"Aye," Killian tells her, his voice much too sincere for what they're about to do. Drunk sex against the door of his cabin isn't exactly the time for emotional gestures, but he's giving her them nonetheless. He bends his head down to kiss her, just a brush of his lips against hers. "I do."

"Then take off what you need to take off and fuck me against this damn door."

Rum has always loosened her lips.

"As you wish," he mutters, kicking off his pants and sliding his hand under hers. He lets his fingers rub against where she's the most sensitive, the most needy. Killian rolls her clit with his fingers, just enough to make her eyes roll to the back of her head. She's still wearing her shirt and he's still wearing his, but this - this feeling, the promise of what's to come - is almost enough.

Killian moves his hand to guide his length to her entrance, the head of him hovering right where she needs him most. Emma bites her lip, arching against the door and pressing one of her heels into his calf with a _'for fuck's sake, Killian'._ He finally, slowly, painstakingly fills her. It's the first time they've done this standing - at least, the first time that wasn't a sex pollen induced dream - and Emma already knows it won't be the last.

Her arms tighten around him, eyes fluttering shut as she bends her head to his shoulder. She presses a kiss to a spot his shirt isn't covering, rolling her hips against him.

"Just like that," Killian encourages, voice guttural as his hand stills at her hip. He's fully sheathed inside of her, now, the length of him a satisfying burn. It still shouldn't be this good, still shouldn't feel this good, but it does. He does. "Just like that, love."

Emma exhales shakily, closing her eyes and just feeling him for a moment.

"Harder," she murmurs, teeth scraping along his collar when he starts with a few steady thrusts.

Killian pauses almost immediately, only half of him still inside of her. "Look at me, darling, let me see that lovely face of yours."

It's not an answer to her request, but she leans her head up until it's against the door.

"There's a good girl," he coos, pressing her further against the door. "Now legs around my hips, love, and arms around my neck."

Emma complies, panting when it has him deeper inside of her. Killian grins widely, the smile all teeth and his eyes all lust, as he hooks his arms under her knees and sets his hand and hook at her hips. He slips out of her some, just enough for her hands to tighten at his collar, before pushing all the way back in.

"Hard, did you say?" he pants, his gaze fixed on her. Emma nods, not trusting herself to say words at the moment.

Killian takes the recommendation to heart, each snap of his hips making her more and more sensitive. He ruts into her over and over again until she's writhing against the door, until she almost feels like her hands are going to slip from their hold on him.

"Bring your," Killian pauses, moaning when she clenches her walls around him. "Bloody buggering fuck, love. Bring your hand down to your clit, rub it for me."

Emma makes a noise of protest, her hands still wrapped around his collar and hanging on. With her legs still locked around him, jeopardizing her balance seems risky.

"Drop your leg," he instructs, releasing one of them. It aches when Emma does. She wonders how she's able to even stand on it even with him holding most of her weight. "Good, love," he praises, sinking deeper inside of her. "You're so good, so perfect."

Her hand goes to her clit, per his request, and her eyes nearly roll into the back of her head when he keeps thrusting while she works at herself. Her back is going to be sore, she's sure, her legs boneless. But when she finally goes over the edge, leaning against the surface at her back with a soundless cry, it's worth it. Impatient decision of a drunk or not, it was worth it.

Killian, to his credit, holds himself back enough to meet his release a minute after she does. He apparently had no trouble maintaining full mast for long enough, though by the nearly pained look on his face she caught a couple of times during it wasn't for lack of want. He's a good partner, in more ways than one.

Once he pulls out of her, he lets her other leg fall and pulls him in for a kiss. She clings to his collar, again, a little unsteady on her numb legs.

"You alright there, love?" he asks, face flush and words out of breath. It's a feeling she can relate to.

"Can't move," she grunts. "My knees are going to buckle."

Killian chuckles, his sated smile slowly spreading across his face. "That's what I like to hear."

Emma rolls her eyes. "And now I see that I'm only inflating your ego even more."

"Pleasured you until you couldn't walk, did I?" he continues, the shit-eating grin never leaving his face.

This is the man she's chosen to - well, this is the man she's still figuring out her feelings for. She sighs in exasperation.

"Just carry me," Emma grumbles, locking her arms tighter around his neck and leaning further against him.

"As you wish, love."

He slides her legs back to his hips - both of them too exhausted to even think about any sensations associated with the movement - and carries her back to his bed until her back hits the pillows.

-/-

Truthfully, Killian is having a difficult time feeling his own legs, but that's hardly something he can think about when Emma is splayed on his sheets.

"That was good," Emma groans, working on tugging off her shirt as soon as she's settled on the bed. Killian follows her action, unbuttoning his. "We're really getting good at this, huh?"

She frowns when she has a difficult time of getting her shirt over her head, but manages the feat in a brief struggle of hair and elbows. He chuckles, his hair falling in his face as he settles in beside her. Killian drapes a quilt over their bodies, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he props his head up on his hand. "Perfect - you're perfect."

"We just had sex against your door, I think you don't need to do any more of the flattery," Emma deadpans, pressing the pillow underneath her closer to her cheek.

"I mean it," he replies softly, easily. The slight slur from the drinking, the desperation is gone - replaced instead with a feeling of warmth and sincerity. Killian lets his head rest against the pillow underneath him, gazing at her. "You're perfect.

And it is - she is. He didn't know if he'd ever see his ship again, mere months ago, and with her help he's sleeping in it with fantastic company. Emma smiles at him, the sight soft and welcoming. Two elements of home at once - the captain's cabin of the Jolly Roger and Emma. He's nothing short of a blessed man, to be sure.

"You missed it," Emma murmurs, hand cupping his cheek. They're both sobering, both a bit more satisfied after the round against the door. She slides her thumb over his jawline, following the line of it with the soft pad of her fingers. "Didn't you?"

"It was my home for centuries," Killian replies easily. "Of course I missed it. But I'm willing to wager I found an even better one."

Emma raises her eyebrows, her hand moving to his chest. "What, you looking to buy one of the inns? Otherwise, I don't know how you'd find the time to look around at h-"

His hand slides down to where hers rests, where his heart is thumping wildly underneath his palm. He curls his fingers around hers, keeping it pressed right where it is. "Home doesn't have to be a place, love."

She gapes up at him, in spite of enchanted compasses and promises and other things she surely must know by now. Killian can't tell her his feelings - at least not in quite so plain text - yet. He knows Emma, knows how skitterish she can be. If he's to declare his love, it needs to be at the best time for her, the best pace for her. Killian can bite his tongue if it means she's more comfortable in the meantime. That all being said, she should be able to deduce he loves her by his words, his actions.

By the wonder in her eyes every time he expresses it, he almost thinks she might know.

-/-

Life continues for a few days as it did the first. Killian teaches her how to navigate around his ship, Ariel and Eric make conversation, the two of them so obnoxiously nice it's almost unbelievable. And the cabin - well, the captain's cabin sees its share of action. By the time they get to the docks of Arendelle, they're both feeling refreshed and ready.

Ready for what, Emma has no idea of yet. Dancing at a ball? Maybe. Fighting Regina hands on quite yet? Not a chance.

"Be safe," Ariel advises as soon as they drop anchor at the docks. Her arms come around Emma to hug her so tightly her ribcage feels in danger of being crushed. Emma just laughs - wheezes, the way her airway is being cut off - and reciprocates the gesture. "I mean it. We'll be back to the ship tonight, so the second you need to go…"

"You'll be ready to whisk us away," Emma grins, stepping out of the hug. "I know. Thanks, Ariel."

"Just returning the favor," Ariel shrugs. "You did the same for me. Now I have Eric and a boat and-"

"Ship, love," Killian interrupts, shaking his head. "I wonder the wisdom of my decision when you can't even call her by the right name."

"You ever feel like the other woman with the boat?" Ariel asks teasingly.

Eric walks up behind her, satchel hanging on his shoulder. He hears Ariel's last words and looks as if he's muffling a laugh. When Emma just raises her eyebrows at him, he immediately turns somber.

"Sorry, Emma," he apologizes, making Ariel turn around to face him with a broad grin.

Emma just shakes her head, an amused smile on her lips. Killian just looks exasperated.

"I'm going to call the ship a _'he'_ now, just so you know," Ariel continues unashamedly.

Killian just releases a long-suffering sigh. He takes Emma's hand, lifting it up to press a kiss to it. "You're more than enough woman for me, Swan, rest assured."

"I'm swooning," she deadpans, but the grin on her face just widens.

-/-

They manage to find the sort of attire you'd wear to a ball easily enough, with enough gold directed towards a clothing shop owner that's struggling and a friendly tailor. It's days after they buy everything - hours before the ball - that they're talking in his cabin.

"So, we're still going with the 'posing as royalty from some made up place' routine, right?" Emma asks, trying to set another pin in her hair. She's never been good at this - she can manage loose braids but that's usually as far as her skillset goes - but she manages to get all of it in a half-decent bun. One she's valiantly trying to make _stay_. "I'm warning you, I don't know how much of a straight face I can say the kingdom of _Storia_ with. It sounds like a disease. A made up disease."

"But yet, vague enough that it could be believable, love. Using a name of a real kingdom could only bite us in the arse. It's not as if you don't have any practice being royalty, hm?" he points out, shucking out of his coat. "Given that you have some royal blood in you, after all. If all the chatter of nobility is to believed, there's some instinct in you to act accordingly yet."

"That is just elitist propaganda, for one. You'd be the first to say that. For another - are you changing right now?" she asks, raising her eyebrows as he begins plucking open buttons on his vest. "We still have a few hours."

"Does that bother you?" he retorts, impishly. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."

She groans, throwing the rest of his princely attire at him. He catches it with a broad grin on his lips.

"Stay laughing, buddy. I'm going to need help with the stupid corset, anyway. I hate corsets so much," Emma groans, taking off her own jacket. She lets it rest on the back of the chair, her hands coming up to hold the dress against her. It's red - as red as her jacket - which is nice. She picked up a few pins to go with it when she got the dress - Killian supplied the jewelry with some treasure he had left on his ship that was far from legally obtained.

She isn't going to ask how he got a tiara. Emma isn't even sure she wants to know.

Her eyes go to where it rests on the desk, eyeing it with some suspicion.

Killian chuckles, noticing her line of sight as he finishes unbuttoning his vest. "Found it in a chest, love. Princesses aren't my type."

Emma cocks her head to the side at him, finding something else wrong with his statement.

"Usually," he emphasizes, grinning fondly at her. "They usually aren't. I've found I'm willing to make exceptions, as of late."

"Nice save," Emma mutters, but the words have no bite.

She sets herself on unbuttoning her vest and shirt as soon as he has both on the floor and begins shucking off the leather pants. Emma is down to her underwear by the time she manages to slip into the corset. She laced it beforehand, figuring it'd be easier that way so she could just tighten it when the time came, but it's still difficult to try and tie up a knot on her back.

Emma groans. "Any chance you're good at tying corsets?"

"Sailor, love," Killian replies, slipping into dark, pressed, not leather pants, "any sea-faring man worth his salt can tie a knot. Need help?"

"Please," she turns around, moving her hair to the front of her shoulder to allow him an easier time. Killian ties it up easily, wasting no time.

"Good?"

"It's good. Well, corsets aren't good. Corsets suck," Emma tells him, pouting, "but thank you for tying it up for me."

Killian grins broadly as she turns around to face him, his gaze fixed to where her breasts are nearly spilling out of the damn thing. "Your discomfort is a cross I'm willing to bear."

She wrinkles her nose. "Men."

"We're a predictable lot," he agrees, his voice low. Killian brings his hand up to settle at her waist, thumb brushing at the underside of her breast. Emma arches into the touch, groaning just a little. Killian dips his head to kiss her and she reciprocates easily before thinking better of it.

"Later," she promises against his lips, their heavy breathing filling the room. "Later, alright? First, we get to this ball. Whether Regina shows or not, we should be able to figure something out."

"Later," he repeats, sounding dazed. His eyes are still fixed, predictably, on how her breasts are pushed upwards by the corset she's wearing. Killian licks his lips before he finally meets her eyes. "Apologies, love, it seems the sight of you in a corset -"

"Corsets," Emma emphasizes, rolling her eyes. "Are evil torture devices only a few steps below bamboo under the nails. I can't even feel my spleen."

Killian frowns, his hand moving to her back and fingering the laces. "Do you wish me to loosen the-"

"No, it's fine, it's how they're supposed to be worn," Emma grimaces, hand falling at her ribs. "They're supposed to be a pain. I can breathe, and that's what counts. I've only worn one of these a handful of times in my life, but I know the line between passing out from lack of air and what's going to make it stay in place."

"I don't like the idea of you being in pain," Killian mutters, fingers pinched around the ribbon. "I'll loosen them, just a bit, just enough to-"

"Killian," Emma groans, hand stopping his on her back. "It's fine. It's sweet that you're concerned, but trust me, it's fine. Let's go over the plan - do you still have the invitation?"

"Aye," Killian nods. "Luckily, they don't seem to have put a name on it. I'm assuming the invitee is allowed to bring a guest."

"Never been to a ball, but I imagine the same. Hey, you're like a million years old, they let you bring dates to balls back in your day?"

He chuckles, swaying into her space. "Ah, in my lieutenant days…"

"Lieutenant," she repeats, raising her eyebrows. "You were a lieutenant?"

"I did tell you I was in the Naval Academy, didn't I?

"You didn't mention the lieutenant part," Emma points out, intrigued. "Now I can't stop picturing you in the uniform - did you wear one of those hats?"

Killian sighs heavily. "Now I'm beginning to see why I didn't bring it up. But, yes, back in my lieutenant days, you were allowed a guest to balls you were invited to. The navy was expected to attend as many as possible."

"Let me guess, all the girls were clamoring to get their hands on Lieutenant Jones," Emma teases good naturedly. He's had enough swagger for as long as she's known him, she wouldn't be surprised if he'd been this confident since birth.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "I was too dedicated to the navy to worry about silly things like dalliances. I was a bit of a...how do I say this...righteous prick?"

Emma has a difficult time reconciling that with the man she knows now, she has to admit. "Hard to envision."

"The righteous part or the prick part?"

"Righteous, definitely. As much hell as you gave me for being self-righteous when we first started out."

"Did I ever use the words?"

"You definitely implied them," Emma retorts, but there's no malice in his words.

He grants that. "Fair enough, darling. You ever learn to waltz?"

Emma blinks at the rapid change of subject. "I got the sword fighting lessons, not so much the dancing."

"I'll teach you, then," Killian promises, a grin on his face.

She can't help but smile back His good mood is contagious. Emma's eyes go to their barely clothed forms. She's only in her corset and underwear and he's just wearing pants.

"We should get dressed," Emma sighs.

"Aye," he agrees, eyes going back to the cleavage revealed by her corset. Killian snaps out of it after a moment. She resists the urge to laugh. "We should."

-/-

"So," Emma mutters, clinging onto his arm as if it's a lifeline as they wade into the heavily-decorated palace. It just might be. Couples are already twirling around and there are ice sculptures everywhere she looks. Why exactly ice sculptures, she's not sure. "Charles and Leia, right?"

"Aye," he nods, tucking the invitation he just showed to the guards back into his coat. "Those are the names you came up with."

She shrugs. "They sounded fancy enough, I don't know. You wanna change them?"

"A bit late now, love," Killian replies, eyes going to the rapidly approaching queen. Emma almost jumps.

"Welcome!" the queen - recognizable by the crown on her head - greets them. "I'm Elsa, queen of Arendelle. I don't think I've seen either of you before."

"We come from a long way away, your majesty," Killian explains smoothly as he bows. Emma curtsies. "Our kingdom, Stor-"

Emma interrupts him, dreading the backstory of a fictional kingdom making this situation even more complicated. "I'm Princess Leia, this is Prince Charles."

Elsa gives them both a kind smile, eyes already going to the next people in line to be greeted. She doesn't seem to enjoy the whole spectacle, if the stiffness of her posture and her tight, fixed smile are any indication. Or maybe she's anxious about who could show up. "Lovely to meet both of you, I hope you have a good time tonight."

Emma lets out a deep breath as soon as she leaves.

Killian looks to her quizzically. "That was...abrupt."

"Rule number one about not being caught in a lie - keep it simple," Emma advises. "You embellish too much and it gets obvious."

"Hm," Killian ponders this, lips pressing together. "Good to know. Do you think we could talk to the queen any more, get any information out of her? Perhaps we could get a feeling of her sympathies, at least, if she's allied with Regina or against her."

"Everyone is allied with Regina, anything else would suicide. It's just a matter of how forced it is. I think just trying to listen for a little while is a good bet."

"Good point," he grants, stepping forward to lead her to the dance floor. His hand moves down to intertwine with hers, his prosthetic settling at her waist. "You cut quite the figure in this dress, Swan."

Emma's lips curve into a smile. She sets her other hand on his shoulder, her fingers tightening around his. "You don't look bad, yourself. So, you do know how to do this, right? The dancing?"

"It's called a waltz."

"Right," she nods, looking around at the other couples dancing. "And it looks really complicated. A lot more complicated than campfire dancing."

"Relax, love," Killian instructs. "It's as I said before: the only rule to it is to pick a partner who knows what he's doing."

With that, they're dancing.

-/-

They dance for a little while and Emma doesn't even step on his toes once. For all her protests, she's quite the natural at dancing. In her tiara and red dress, she's quite the natural at being a princess, as well. Killian knows she has more traits of leadership in her than are required for a ball - fighting, providing an example, standing up for her people and all the rest - but as much as Emma clearly thinks she wouldn't be fit for a royal life, he has faith she'd manage just fine. Even with all the pomp and circumstance, she'd be able to do it.

Killian nearly tells her this, the words almost bubbling over his lips about her being the natural as he bends down and lets her walk around him in the steps of the dance, but Emma clears her throat and directs her gaze to where the queen of Arendelle is leaving the ballroom.

"You did say to listen, right?" Emma suggests in a whisper.

"Aye," he says, pausing his movements. Emma takes the hint, threading her arm through his and walking away from the dance floor as subtly as possible. "That I did. Say, love, you did say you needed assistance finding your way to the washroom? I'll show you the way."

Killian raises his voice enough to say the words, in case any observers too nosy for their own good are baffled by the sudden departure.

"Embellishment," Emma mutters. "Remember?"

"Fair enough," he replies, ambling with her to where he saw Elsa disappear. Once they get into the hallway of the castle, he starts to hear voices, one feminine and one masculine. He edges closer before Emma pulls him against her behind a column.

"Listen," Emma whispers.

"I told you not to send that invitation," a voice that sounds like Elsa's grits out, her voice icy. Killian and Emma lean further into the wall they're sheltered in. "I don't want her here. She massacres her kingdom and expects me to welcome her into mine?"

The masculine voice tuts at her. "Would you rather have her kill your people at the first sign of disrespect?"

"I don't owe a person like that my respect."

"You owe your people their lives, like it or not."

"I have magic," Elsa points out. "I can defend my people just fine."

"Against a sorceress like her?" the man asks doubtfully. "I wouldn't take the chance. Ice magic may be powerful, but the queen has dark, dark magic at her disposal. She's had a lot longer to hone her craft - if you try freezing her she'll melt it in a second before burning down everything you've ever loved."

There's a long pause.

The man groans, seemingly taking Elsa's silence as enough of an answer. "I doubt she'll even show up."

"I don't like the odds of your doubts," Elsa sighs, "but I like the odds of me against her even less."

"You want what's best for this kingdom. So do I. You hired me as an adviser for a reason, Elsa. All I can do is advise."

"I don't care for your advice."

"But you still know I'm right."

The man leaves the room, at that, his footsteps sounding farther away rather than closer. Elsa sighs to the room that's meant to be empty.

Emma's eyes meet Killian's. She frowns, seemingly considering what she just overheard.

Killian leans in to whisper in her ear, keeping his voice as low as possible. "I'll go around, see what information I can get out of him. Perhaps he'd be willing to talk to a prince."

Emma looks as if she's about to protest before she thinks better of it. "I'll stay," she murmurs, "stumble in like I'm lost, maybe she'll do the same."

He nods before pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek, carefully and quietly slinking away.

-/-

Emma waits a few moments after he leaves, taking a deep breath to steel herself. Evidently, she waits too long. Elsa's heels clack against the floor and she's face to face with her

"What the hell are you doing?" Elsa asks coldly, her eyes narrowing on her eavesdropper. "How long have you been here?"

"Uh…" Emma flounders, standing up straighter. "I got lost?"

Elsa's eyes harden. "I don't know what you think you're…"

"Listen," Emma pleads, her hands raised above her head. "You don't like Regina, right?"

"What are you?" Elsa asks, her voice cold as she stares at her. "One of her spies?"

Emma laughs in disbelief, unable to hold back the sound. Elsa just narrows her eyes, moving her hands back as if to attack before Emma rushes to explain herself. "I'm the Savior!" Emma says, finally, cringing a bit when she realizes just how close she's cutting it. The last thing she needs to turn into is a human icicle. "I'm the Savior. You know what that is, right?"

"Em- Leia!" Killian's voice filters through the hall and she can see him racing to get to her. Apparently, his quest for the adviser was fruitless. His eyes widen when he spots Elsa. Killian steps in front of her protectively, shielding her with his body. "Majesty, I apologize, I think you have the wrong-"

Emma reaches into his coat without a moment of hesitation, causing surprise to fall on both Killian and Elsa's faces before she pulls out Killian's hook from his jacket. He always has to have it on him. "Captain Hook," Emma announces, waving it around in the air a bit in Elsa's direction. "Believe me now?"

Elsa raises her eyebrows. "Your traveling companion?"

"Something like that."

Killian is still gaping.

"She accused me of being a spy for Regina," Emma explains, shrugging. "I had to prove I was the Savior, somehow."

"There's an idea," Killian snorts. "This queen would have better luck freezing hell over with her ice powers than Regina would convincing you to work for her."

"Elsa?" a feminine voice filters into the room, a redhead with braids hanging on her shoulders following it. Her eyes widen at the sight of the hook in Emma's hand, which she tucks into her arms a little too late.

The girl just stares at them, awestruck. "No-freaking-way. You got the Savior and Captain Hook? I didn't know they accepted ball invitations."

"This is my sister, Anna," Elsa introduces, looking a little reluctant. Anna just beams widely at the two of them, virtually vibrating with excitement.

"I'm Emma," she motions to herself before pointing at her companion. "And this is Killian."

"It's super great to meet you-" Anna steps forward to shake their hands before Elsa stops her.

"Anna," Elsa says, her voice warning as she raises her hand defensively in front of her before she can walk any closer. "I don't know anything about these two, they could be dangerous-"

"They have the hook!"

"Those are easy to come by!"

Killian lifts up his stiff prosthetic with a sigh in response to Elsa's protest. "What, did I cut the damn thing off myself?"

"They don't exactly hand out badges for us to identify ourselves with. It'd kind of defeat the purpose," Emma deadpans.

"They have a point," Anna says.

Elsa groans, her hand coming to her forehead. She seems to be coming around. "If that's the case, why did you two come here? A royal ball in a kingdom far from yours is hardly an ideal place for your...quest."

"We haven't exactly had the chance to venture much outside the kingdom, we were hoping that we'd be able to get some information about Regina. Censorship in Misthaven is kind of a given."

Anna bounces excitedly, clasping her hands together. "This is so cool! I mean, the Savior asking for your help? That's kind of a big deal, all of the stories…"

"Anna," Elsa sighs in exasperation.

"Sorry," Anna apologizes, not sounding remorseful in the slightest. "Not everyday you meet the Savior and Captain Hook. This is just so freaking cool."

Killian chuckles in amusement, his hand coming down to hold Emma's. She tucks the hook back in his coat.

"It's nice to meet you, Anna," Emma says, unable to hold back her own mirth. "And, I'm sorry for eavesdropping, Elsa, but - you don't seem to like Regina, either. Do you know anything?"

"Just a little," Elsa replies."They say the only thing that can defeat the Evil Queen of Misthaven is a magic user more powerful than she is."

"The Savior," Emma fills in easily. "I know, I get that much."

"Which is you," Anna adds, helpfully.

Elsa continues. "Emphasis on the magic user part. How much experience do you have with magic? Do you think you could take her on now?"

Killian's hand tightens in hers. "Now?"

"Yeah, no way," Emma shakes her head fervently. "I'm not...at that level. I can heal, a little, if the time and conditions and everything else are right and I can float feathers and," she lets out a deep breath, "I can do a little bit. On the scale of the most powerful magic ever to defeat the most powerful sorceress out there? Not even close."

Elsa frowns. "But you're the Savior."

"Believe me," Emma huffs, "I know."

Elsa bites her lip and crosses her arms, considering this information. "You know, there's someone who helped me gain control of my powers. His name is Merlin."

"The wizard?" Killian asks, brows shooting up in disbelief.

"Well, yeah," Elsa states. "That's kind of the point, isn't it?"

"True," he concedes.

"How do we find this wizard?" Emma asks, frowning.

"You don't find him," Elsa says. "He finds you."

They're interrupted before they have a chance to get more information from her.

"You might want to see this," Elsa's advisor from earlier announces, a grimace on his face as he enters the room. He looks surprised at her company - less so at her sister, moreso and Emma and Killian - but seems too preoccupied with whatever is going on to question it.

"Stay here," Elsa tells Anna, setting her hands on her shoulders. "Alright?"

Anna pouts, but relents. "Kristoff is off on some ice trip and _you_ won't let me have any fun."

"Or I want to see my sister safe," Elsa retorts. Anna just rolls her eyes.

"Blah, blah, blah - evil sorceress, I know," Anna sighs exaggeratedly, already making her way back down the hallway.

Emma frowns, turning to Elsa. "Do you think she's here?"

Elsa grimaces. "There's only one way to find out."

-/-

Sure enough, they find out as soon as they enter the ballroom. Elsa approaches the front warily and Emma and Killian do their best to blend into the crowd of ball-goers. There's a woman clad in black, her eyes cold and her posture firm. She's flanked by guards whose dark armor is immediately recognizable.

"Regina," Emma says, freezing. Her eyes dart to Killian fearfully - she may not recognize Emma but she'd certainly recognize him. Killian must understand her point, given the way he edges towards the hall he just left. Emma should follow - she definitely should - but she feels like she needs to see this woman with her own eyes.

She needs to know what she's dealing with. Emma gestures for Killian to go without her. He shakes his head, eyes insistent, but when Regina sweeps her eyes over the audience she holds he seems to give up and walk to the hall.

"What a fine, fine evening," Regina drawls, her voice as cold as her mannerisms. She's draped in every manner of the finest cloth - her hair slicked back in a ponytail and a crown resting on her head. "I was honored to receive an invitation. I get a little," she pouts mockingly, "hurt when I don't get invited to occasions like this."

"We sent it," Elsa replies stiffly. Emma takes this as the cue to step away, edging away as slowly as possible where Killian just disappeared.

She's never been in the same room as Regina before, as far as she can remember. She's scary, to be sure, but overdramatic to an extent that's almost laughable. As powerful as she is, she relies too much on her image. It's a front for something, Emma is sure. Just as her guards' incompetence and her strict rules are, it's a show hiding her vulnerability.

Regina has to be vulnerable, if the way she's hunting Emma (and failing) is any indication.

-/-

Emma looks all over the palace for a trace of Killian, ducking her head in and out of rooms. She doesn't find Anna, either, much to her disappointment. All of the rooms are empty, everyone occupied by the ball, but Emma gets into one room and a finds an occupant. An older woman with dark hair sits on a chair next to a cage, carefully holding a bird in her hands.

It's an odd sight.

The woman raises her head at the intruder, taking Emma's appearance in with a blink.

"Sorry," Emma apologizes immediately. "I was just looking...sorry to disturb you, I was at the ball and-"

"You're a friend of Elsa's?" the woman asks, voice curious.

Emma gives the woman a tight smile, closing the door behind her. Maybe there's a chance she's seen Killian pass by, can point her in the right direction."Yeah, I'm Princess Leia," the title leaves a sour taste in Emma's mouth. "You can just call me Leia. It's fine."

"Leia," she repeats, a soft smile appearing on her lips. "I'm Frosty. I work for Elsa."

"Frosty," Emma repeats. Of all the fake names she's ever heard, this is one of the worst. She brushes it aside - she doesn't have the time to question it. "Right. It's nice to meet you...Frosty."

"You as well, Leia," she grants, kindly. She puts the bird back inside of its cage carefully. "What are you looking for? Perhaps I can help."

"Um," Emma bites her lip, unsure of how much she should reveal to the stranger. "My date, Prince... Charles, kind of scampered off."

"Ah," Frosty grins. "Mine did - well, not prince, but my husband - too. He's off on some ice trip with Princess Anna's fiance."

Emma doesn't know what the hell an 'ice trip' is. She's not sure she wants to.

"Right. Have you seen a man - a couple of heads taller than me, dark hair, short beard, tan coat?"

Frosty shakes her head. "Can't say that I have."

"Fantastic," Emma sighs.

"I wouldn't worry," Frosty advises immediately, "I'm sure you'll find him. My husband and I used to say we'd always find each other."

The line sounds familiar. She hears something like alarm bells ringing in the back of her head, but she ignores it.

"The Evil Queen is here, I don't know if you've heard of her. We haven't exactly been...on the best terms with her, so I'm kind of anxious."

"Regina," Frosty says, a frown settling on her lips. "I'm familiar with her."

Emma raises her eyebrows. "You are? Did you used to work for her, too?"

Frosty nearly laughs, an inside joke Emma isn't filled in on. "Something like that."

Emma is about to press her for more answers, get some information out of her about a queen she seems to know something about, when the door opens.

"Regina," Elsa pants, her eyes wide. "She knows you're here. I'll hold her off for as long as I can, but -"

"Damn it," Emma curses, standing up immediately. "Where's Killian?"

"Right here, love," Killian's voice comes into the room, evidently right on Elsa's heels. His hand grabs hers.

"We need to run."

"Good luck, Emma," Elsa says, her eyes widening as she takes in the other occupant of the room. Frosty is still sitting on the chair, her mouth agape. She's taking in what's happening with understandable stunned silence. "Oh my gods, you met your-"

"We have to go," Killian repeats, hand tugging her away. "I don't want to know what the queen does with a giant ice wall. I can't say I'm anxious to find out."

Frosty gives her one last, stunned look before Emma disappears, slipping away from the room.

-/-

Emma and Killian do what they've been doing best over the past months. They fight and flee.

"Bloody hell," Killian exclaims, ushering her as she nearly trips over her ballgown. She's beginning to hate this corset even more, now. "That could have gone better."

"You think?" Emma asks, her voice pitched high and out of breath. She gives up with the heels she's wearing, kicks them off before they stumble out of the ballroom. Regina is hot on her heels - she has to be - and while she can face off against her guards just fine, much like Elsa, she doesn't like the idea of the odds of her against Regina at the moment. Magical Savior or not, she still doesn't know what the fuck she's doing with magic.

Swords, swords she knows what she's doing with. Emma grabs the second sword in Killian's belt - hers - and knocks a guard out with the end of it clinging against his helmet.

"Get past these guards," Emma groans in exertion. This dress is the worst thing ever invented, she's convinced. It may be pretty, but if it doesn't have the functionality to let her fight off a hoard of a tyrant's guards, it's not even worth it. She manages nonetheless, dispatching another guard.

Killian is managing much better than she is. He takes care of the rest without even breaking a sweat.

Emma scowls at her dress once more, for good measure. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"Aye," he nods, "the docks aren't far - we're running. You can run in that, correct?"

"If I pass out, it's your job to carry me, but yes."

-/-

They get back to the ship intact, though Emma's feet have too many blisters to count and her pins are falling out and her ribs feel like they could snap with any more tension pressing on them. Killian offered to carry her, but Emma told him it'd only slow them down more. Eric and Ariel are there when they arrive, their eyes wide at the sight of the disheveled couple.

"What the hell happened?" Ariel asks, her eyes wide.

"Lift up the anchor and get us moving, we can explain on the way," Emma instructs sitting down on the ship as soon as she can. "I don't know how many guards followed us."

Killian rushes to the sails, adjusting them quickly. Eric rushes to the wheel, taking the instruction to heart, while Ariel gets the anchor up.

"Fastest ship in the realm, love," Killian reminds her.

Emma massages the soles of her feet with a grimace. She needs to get this corset off as soon as possible, but that will have to wait until they're safe. She stands up on her feet, eyeing the port. It's quiet for now, but there's no telling how long Elsa's protections will hold.

She feels a pang of regret at dragging Elsa into this, of potentially jeopardizing her people when Elsa did nothing but help her in the short time she knew her. She didn't hand them over when she could have, easily, and benefited from never having Regina bother her again.

Emma thinks about Elsa and her energetic little sister, Anna. She thinks of the woman who worked for her with the name that sounded false and the smile that seemed genuine, of the woman's husband and Anna's fiance.

She hopes that Elsa is more powerful than her adviser gave her credit for.

"I really hope so," Emma replies, her lips setting into a hard line.


	18. Innocent

**A/N: Hey, happy Wednesday! I hope you guys are having a good one. We've officially 75% into this fic so I'm pretty hyped! Just one last quarter and Strangeness and Charm will be finished. I have two sequels planned, though, so don't get too worried. There's still way too much of this universe to explore and I'm too attached to it to let go of it now. Which fits, because the sequel is titled Never Let Me Go :P. Without F+TM, I swear I wouldn't have titles.**

 **Also, I twisted a bit of Killian's show backstory around. It couldn't be helped - I wrote a lot of Killian's backstory in this fic pre-Jones Bros so [shrug]. I think some of it was probably canon-balled before then in the 5a finale, but fic continuity is super important to me so I can't exactly go around and change it now. It's not radically different, just adjusted. I just want to make sure I don't get any comments/reviews like "Um, how dare you, this isn't canon" - it's called an AU fic for a reason, guys.**

 **I'm also excited to hear your guys' thoughts on this chapter, considering a major character that I've been anxious to introduce** _ **finally**_ **appears. The basics of their intro scene have been written since...chapter two? It was one of the first images I had in my head when writing this, so finally getting to flesh that out was...fun isn't the right word, given the context, but you'll see! I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

-/-

They're out at sea in no time, luckily without any guards visibly following them. Ariel and Eric get an abridged version of what's happening. With rushed words like _'Regina'_ and _'could be following'_ they get the point fairly quickly. It's not until they've been sailing for a few hours that Emma lets herself go back down to Killian's cabin, determined to get the ballgown off and change back into her own clothes. Constricted breathing on top of panicking isn't a good mix.

She waits until she's changed back into her usual clothes before she collapses on the bed. Emma will go back up to the deck in a minute, she swears, but she needs to breathe. Seeing Regina, knowing the kind of harm she could be inflicting right now while Emma is fleeing, threatens her lung capacity more than any corset ever could.

Emma closes her eyes, face pressed against the pillow. She can't be sure if it's minutes or hours later that she hears a knock at the door. Her vision is blurry when she opens her eyes again, struggling to focus on where Killian is standing in the doorway.

"I'm sorry," she says immediately, standing up so quickly it makes her head spin. Emma hastily sets herself on putting her boots on. "I'll be right back up in a minute, I was just changing and I guess I got tired and -"

"Emma," he stops her movements with a gentle hand on her wrist, his expression concerned. "Are you alright?"

"I must have fallen asleep," she replies instead of answering, gaze trained on the wood underneath their feet. "How long was a gone for?"

"Under an hour," he answers softly. "It'll be a little while before we reach port, even with us going nonstop. Ariel and Eric are manning the helm for now, you should get rest while you can."

"Oh," Emma says, slumping back on the bed and abandoning her boots. "Are they okay?"

"They're just fine, love. The question is - are you?"

Emma inhales deeply, her expression torn. "I'm fine."

"No," he responds, voice gentle. "You're not. What's the matter, Swan?"

She doesn't know how to answer that. Emma is just fine physically, minus a few blisters on her feet and exhaustion. The problem is she doesn't know if the people in the kingdom she just left are. Given the circumstances, the evidence is pointing to the idea that they're not.

"We've handled guards before," Killian frowns, crouching before her. His knees are on the floor, his eyes staring up to where she sits on the bed. He's still wearing the prince attire. "What has you so worried, love?"

"I could have just left all of those people to their deaths," Emma explains, voice bleak. She stares at the paneling of the walls, determined to concentrate on something other than the people she's already failed. She should have stayed, should have fought, should have done what the Savior is meant to do. Emma has been running all of her life, sure, but the Savior isn't supposed to run.

The Savior is supposed to fight. And she didn't.

Killian's forehead creases, his hand coming up to gently press against her cheek. "You can't possibly…"

She moves her head away from his touch. "Elsa said it herself - she didn't know how long she'd be able to hold them back," Emma mutters. "And it's my fault. I should have stayed."

Killian stares at her in disbelief, settling his hand at her knee instead. "And gotten yourself killed? Love, you said it yourself, you need time. We need to find this Merlin bloke, give you some practice -"

"We don't have time," Emma replies, voice hard. "And if any of those people died, it's on me. They didn't have time. And I left anyway."

"Emma," Killian protests, "You only would have endangered them further by staying, you know that. With you out, Regina has something to chase after. There's no point in staying for them when she could be coming after us."

It's a logical point, she has to admit. But there's something else that could be motivating Regina. "Elsa must have really pissed her off. I've seen her do a lot more for a lot less, Killian."

"Ah, but she didn't have us to chase after before. Haven't you noticed that there's been a lot less destruction since she's been preoccupied with us?" Killian points out, his voice level and calm.

She just can't get the images of Elsa, of her little sister, of the woman with the bird in her hands out of her head. If they're dead, it's her fault.

"What if we go back?" Emma suggests, her voice wavering. The last thing she wanted was to drag more people into this, to get them hurt. And if she goes somewhere only to leave destruction in her wake, it hardly speaks well of her presence as the Savior. The Destructor might be a more appropriate title. She folds her arms around herself, an attempt to keep her limbs from vibrating with energy, with anxiety, with guilt. "We may as well have set them in a trap-"

"We're not going back," Killian retorts, his tone firm and unyielding. "Elsa has magic, correct? Been taught by the most powerful wizard of legend, to boot - I'm sure she'll be able to handle it herself."

"You heard her adviser, you eavesdropped in the same conversation I did," Emma points out, her voice rising in volume and pitch. "Regina has a hell of a lot of dark magic and I'm pitting all of those people right against her. You've seen what she's done - leveled entire villages and killed hundreds. I'm sure she has no problem with adding more bodies to that pile."

She hiccups, the sound a precursor to the sobs that threaten to escape her. Emma tries holding them back. She tries to hold on to that thin thread of composure. Killian immediately softens, rising up to sit beside her and pulling her into his arms. Emma almost protests, almost pushes him away - she shouldn't be the one comforted when people could be going through hell where they just fled from - but his touch is gentle and easy to sink into.

Emma buries her face in his neck, arms curling around his neck. "I hate feeling powerless," she tells him, tears escaping her eyes and wetting the stiff fabric of his coat. It's a breakdown that has been months in the making - all of the responsibility is starting to sink in and her knees are buckling with the weight of it. "I hate it. I hate feeling useless, I hate hurting people-"

"This is exactly how she wants you to feel," he murmurs into her hair, kissing the top of her head as his arms tighten around her. "Powerless, useless, alone - she wants you to blame yourself every time she does something. It's how she works, she preys on how much others care. She uses it as a weapon, more powerful than her magic could ever be. Don't let her."

"Easier said than done," Emma replies, sighing. "I just…I'm so tired of this. Tired of trying to do this and failing, tired of the wild goose chases. I'm tired of-"

"Fighting?" Killian offers, leaning back to look at her. His hand is in her hair, moving to frame her face. Killian's eyes are understanding.

'Yeah," Emma admits with a rush of shame. "I'm tired of fighting. It just feels pointless."

She expects him to immediately tell her she's wrong, that they have to fight. That Regina will win if they don't, that Emma has a responsibility. That the reason he's been at her side for so long is because he thought she could defeat her.

"I know."

Emma raises her eyebrows. "You know?"

"Listen to me, darling," Killian presses, thumb catching the remnants of tears under her eyes. She's still sitting in his lap, elevated above him and looking down to meet his eyes. "It's normal to be tired."

"There's nothing normal about this."

"Let me finish," Killian scolds lightly, eyes fixed on hers. "It's been months of fighting, months of fleeing, months of trying. You're bound to get tired of it, especially when Regina is a skilled manipulator. You're allowed to be tired, Emma, you're allowed to doubt yourself."

Emma just stares at him, frowning.

-/-

She closes her eyes, shutting herself out. Killian waits patiently to continue, more encouragement ready to fall from his lips. It's dark, just the flickering of the lamps and the light of the moon illuminating the cabin. But he can see the clench of her jaw, the quiver of her lips, the vulnerability she tries so desperately to keep hidden. Even after seeing her deathly ill and nearly burned and all the rest, Emma still tries so hard to be strong. She doesn't seem to realize that her strength lies in something else entirely, something he's trying to put into words.

Emma opens her eyes again. Killian takes it as a signal for him to continue.

"Just know that I'll never doubt you, not for a minute. The prophecy just listed a Savior - someone to defeat Regina. It does nothing to encompass who you are, Emma, what you're capable of. You're the Savior, certainly, but you're more than that. You're Emma Swan - strong-willed and clever and compassionate. And yes, you're a fighter. As much as you may tire of it, I know it's who you are, down to your bones."

He means every word he's saying, the thoughts he's always had of Emma coming out easily on his tongue. More tears fall down her face and her chest rises and falls unsteadily with her breaths. He gently wipes more of the wetness away and slides his hand down to her sternum, to where her heart is beating.

"To your heart," Killian says softly, pressing his palm more firmly against it. "Never let anyone convince you it's your weakness when it'll always be your strength, the fact that you care so deeply. You do what you do not because it's easy, not because you hope to obtain power. Power, vengence - those are the only things Regina understands. The only thing I truly understood for a long time. But you, you...you protect people you don't know, willingly sacrifice yourself for those who have wronged you when you're convinced they're good, feel guilt over things you have no control over. That's your heart, Emma."

Emma just stares at him, her eyes glassy and her hand sliding to cover where his rests on her chest. She doesn't interrupt.

"You even fought alongside, trusted, comforted a pirate who worked for the person who has been ruining your life since you were a babe," he adds self-deprecatingly, a grin creeping up on his lips.

She opens her mouth to protest, but he continues before she has the chance. "But this isn't about me," Killian says quickly. Her answering smile is tremulous, but there all the same. "This is about you, who you are. I didn't…" he hesitates briefly, uncertain of if it's the right time or not. Killian throws caution to the wind, deciding to say it regardless. "I didn't fall in love with just the Savior or the princess of Misthaven or any of the other titles that burden you, I fell in love with Emma Swan - all that you are. I fell in love with your heart and your mind and your strength, with your understanding."

Emma just gapes at him, at loss for words. He isn't quite sure if that's a good or bad thing, so he carries on.

"That's all you, Emma. That isn't the Savior, it's you. So if you feel…" he trails off, moving his hand to push a strand of hair out of her face. His fingers wrap around the strands reverently, his eyes still on hers. "If you ever feel weak, I'll be right beside you to remind you of how strong you are. If you ever feel powerless, I can tell you with utmost certainty that you're one of the most powerful people I've ever met. If you ever feel tired, I'll do whatever I can to give you a place to rest. If you ever feel lost, I'll find you."

She surges forward to kiss him. It's a lucky thing, really. For one, he was running out of things to say. For another, his worry of how she could interpret his sudden declaration of love, his worry that she'd want to run away, was beginning to get to him.

(If she runs away, he'll always wait for her to come back. There's another one.)

Killian slides one of his arms around her waist, reciprocating the kiss in no time at all. His tongue glides against hers with an easy slowness, his hand fisting in her hair. Emma holds him as close to her as she can, her kiss a bit more desperate, needier.

They part for breath, breathing heavily. Killian finds he still has words he wishes to say. "I love you, Emma."

Emma just kisses him again in response. She can't say it, he knows, she's not ready. He understands that much, wouldn't dream of pressuring her to reciprocate. But Killian thinks she might feel the same, the way she clutches him to her. It's just a matter of her admitting it to herself, expressing her vulnerability in a way he knows is hard for her to do.

(If she has walls, he'll chip them down.)

She presses kisses along his jawline, hands tugging off his coat. Killian complies, snaking his arms out to allow her to do what she wishes. Killian reaches for her coat, fingers pulling on the leather, and she chases his lips with hers once more as it joins the pile on the floor with his coat.

(If Emma has armor, he'll take it off.)

She pushes back on his shoulders until his back is on the bed and he's staring, panting up at her. Emma settles one of her legs over his hips, sitting on his thighs and leaning back down to kiss him. Killian groans, his hand settling on her lower back. One of her hands tangles in his hair as he arches up to reciprocate, the other goes down to the laces of his pants.

"No, wait," he leans away from her kiss and catches her hand with hers. Emma looks at him with confusion and a little bit of hurt until he clarifies. "Shirt and vest first, eh? As bloody uncomfortable as these are..."

"Miss the leather, huh?" Emma asks, voice wry and teasing. She looks behind her back, eyeing his feet. "You're still wearing your boots too?"

"Bloody unclean, getting shoes on the furniture," he grumbles and kicks them off. She laughs, her eyes lighting up with humor. He sets his hand on her cheek fondly, unable to resist mirroring her smile.

He wonders if she'd mind if he told her he loved her again, if he repeated it over and over until his voice ran hoarse. Killian doesn't get the chance to ask before she's kissing him again and her fingers are making quick work of his vest. He reaches for hers, hand skimming over her breasts and making her shiver in a delightful way and unbuttons the vest as quickly as his fingers will let him.

Killian is on her shirt by the time Emma finishes undoing his vest, his lips moving down to her neck. Emma sits up and he follows, shedding her of the clothing covering her upper body as she does the same for him. The rest of their clothes are gone quickly after that - the undressing intermixed with caresses and kisses and all the rest until they're both bare. She carefully takes off the brace holding his prosthetic. Killian's back presses down against the bed once more when Emma gently pushes him down.

"I really liked the prince look for you, you know," Emma murmurs, her eyes light.

"I make a fine prince, hm? I'll keep that in mind," Killian grins in response, settling his hand and wrist on her hips. She's right over him, propped up by her knees on either side of him. " _Princess_."

"Gold digger," she accuses, grinning.

"Pirate," he corrects.

She brushes against him, rocking her hips on top of his. His length brushes up against her and he bites back a curse, leaning his head back and groaning.

"Have you drank that potion recently?"

"Yup, after last time," Emma answers, skimming against the tip of him with her heat once more. He brushes against her clit and she swallows hard.

His hand and wrist remain at her waist, gently directing her towards where he needs her. "Sure you don't require any further...preparation?"

"I wouldn't say no."

Killian slides his hand down to where she's inches above him, gently rubbing his fingers along her. He slips a finger inside of her, rolling her clit with his thumb. She's wet, that much is obvious, but he's willing to gamble he can make her even more so within a few minutes. Emma breathes in deep, bucking against his touch. He's so hard it nearly hurts, especially when she's this close, but making sure she's comfortable will make this more pleasurable for the both of them.

It's after a few minutes of this that Emma decides she's had enough, one of her hands settling at his chest and the other taking ahold of him. Killian takes this as all the signal he needs, removing his hand from her and gently guiding her closer to him. Emma seats herself down on him slowly, taking him in inch by inch. She braces herself with both hands on his shoulders as soon as he reaches bottom within her and she rocks back on forth on top of him until she finds a steady pace. He lifts his hips up to eagerly meet each one of her movements.

As familiar as he is with her body, she always feels better every time - so tight, so warm, so _perfect_. There's something to be said of sex with someone who you know intimately. He knows more of her sensitive spots - he sits partially up to lave at the scar on her breast and run his hand on the underside of her breasts - and she knows his. Emma's hands move his face away from her chest and toward her lips. She leans down to kiss him fully, still keeping up the rhythm of her movements.

He's quite certain he audibly whines when Emma almost sits back up. She laughs and he responds by cupping her face with his hand and wrist. She leans into his touch so immediately he'd nearly call it instinctive, closing her eyes. Her rhythm becomes slower, fuller, and he can feel the tension in his belly tightening.

"Open your eyes," he encourages, voice gentle. Killian runs his wrist along her jaw, his hand tucking hair behind her ear. Emma groans at one particularly angled thrust upwards from him. He draws his knees towards her until her back rests against his thighs. Her eyes are still scrunched closed, as if she's so immersed in the feeling she wants to relish in it.

"Emma, sweetheart, look at me," Killian pleads, determined to bring her over the edge with her eyes on his. Emma complies, though her gaze is heavily-lidded.

"Let me guess," she grunts, sweat clinging to her body as much as it is his. "You wanted me to enjoy the view?"

"Something like that," he laughs breathlessly, though it turns into a guttural moan when she shifts her hips just right. "I'm so lucky, you know that Swan?"

"I know, you're getting lucky," she rolls her eyes, shaking her head.

"More than that," he insists, wrist sliding off of her face and hand holding her cheek. Her eyes stay open, much to his relief. "Lucky I met you, lucky I fell in love with you, lucky we're here together."

She doesn't reply. Instead, she takes ahold of his hand as she leans back onto his thighs. Emma presses a kiss to his palm, bracing herself on the bed and she rises and lowers herself on top of him. Soon, she gets close - he can tell by the way her hand squeezes his and the way her pants come in sharper and shorter. They've been doing this for long enough, Killian can read the signs with no effort at all.

"So bloody fortunate," he emphasizes, thrusting into her as she goes down. That does it for her. With a soft cry and a tensing of her body, Emma meets her release. Killian chases his own, bringing his hips up over and over again as she comes down from her high.

"I love you," Killian tells her when he's too overwhelmed by pleasure to think better of it. She feels so bloody good, so bloody perfect, it's all he can think of to say. Now that it's out, he's addicted to the words. "I love you so much, Emma."

He pulls one of his arms around her and guides her downwards until her chest is pressed against his, pulling her close. Emma is still holding his hand, her thumb moving in circles on the skin until he finishes. They lie there panting for a few minutes, both finding their breath. Emma slides off of him and disentangles their hands before too long, curling into his side.

Killian hums in contentment, grabbing a cloth from the stand next to him and gently cleaning the evidence of their coupling before pulling her even closer to him. He kisses her temple, his hand brushing up and down her arm. Emma tilts her head up to meet his eyes.

"I'm really happy I have you," Emma says, her words soft but clear all the same.

Killian almost jests in response, almost says something along the lines of _'Well, after that I hope so'_ or _'Now I know how to earn my keep'._ Her expression is serious, though, and it stops him.

"And I you," he replies instead.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," she confesses, her eyes still on his. "I know I can't...I'm not good with saying how I feel. But know that I just - no matter what happens, I really want you at my side."

"Is that a promise, Swan?" Killian asks, teasing and hopeful all at once.

Emma kisses him and it feels like she's pouring the words she can't yet say into it.

(If she needs time, he has all the time in the world.)

-/-

They get to the nearest port a few short days later. Killian gave Ariel and Eric firm instructions not to leave the ship and promised Emma he'd return quickly with news of what happened in Arendelle when he slipped away from their bed. Emma can't sleep after he leaves - she'd insist on coming with him, ordinarily, but the dread of knowing sits on her stomach - just stares at the ceiling of the room as she lies on her back.

She can understand why he likes the ship so much. The rocking of the water is soothing, though it's not much of a match for her worries.

"I have good news," Killian announces, opening the door and shutting it softly behind him. "From what I hear, the queen of Arendelle and her people are safe. Regina was more concerned with us than she was with Elsa, so she and her guards followed us rather than bothering with the people of Arendelle."

"Thank the gods," Emma exhales, standing up as soon as he enters. He gives her a quick kiss as soon as he walks up to where she is, lips brushing against hers.

"Just as I told you, love. That being said, Regina _is_ after us. We'll drop off here and Ariel and Eric will take the ship," Killian tells her ,stepping back and squeezing her hand. "She won't be able to find us or those two, as fast as this ship is."

"So," Emma lets out a deep breath. "Everyone is okay?"

"Everyone is okay," he assures her before gently kissing her forehead. Emma leans forward into his touch, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Killian gives her a firm hug, her face pressed against his shoulder, and she feels the relief sagging her frame. "No need to worry now, Swan."

Killian just holds her for a moment, running his hand up and down her back. It's when she's in embraces like this, when he's soothing her like this just with easy gestures and soft words, that she can understand what he means about home being people rather than places. He told her it once in this room, once on the deck when they decided to begin their relationship. It's a cliche, sure, but it drips with sincerity when he says it. She can feel it in the warmth he radiates, in the space between his neck and shoulder that she buries her nose in.

He loves her. The thought should terrify her more than it does, but she's been busy being terrified over other things.

They stay just like that, just hanging onto each other until Emma takes a step back.

"We should get going if we want to maintain that head start," Emma says, her eyes flitting around the cabin. "Find the nearest inn and stay there, keep up what we've been doing."

"Aye," Killian nods. "I already gathered our things - hope you don't mind leaving the ballgown behind, we only have so much room in our bags."

"Not at all," Emma laughs, her eyes going to where the damn thing is draped over a chest. A reminder of the princess she could have been if things were different, the princess she could still be if her parents are able to come back into power. It's not something she wants - the royalty and the attention, anyway - but the reminder of the family she could have been raised by still stings.

She lets out a deep breath, thinking. Killian told her she was more than the Savior, more than some lost princess with the responsibility of the world on her shoulders. He told her that she's Emma, first and foremost.

Emma really hopes he's right about that.

-/-

The next inn is busting, thanks to the neighboring port, and the tavern attached is loud and boisterous. Killian was easily able to overhear gossip in this village earlier, the drunken bar attendees seem to have loose lips on everything from who occupied their bed the night before and what exactly they thought of the Evil Queen sabotaging their business as traders. There isn't a guard in sight in the establishment, which is likely part of the reason they were so forthcoming.

The raucous laughter and talk over Regina being thwarted by an ice wall was amusing, he must admit, but there's another bit of news he overheard just an hour before that he's worried about affecting Emma. According to rumor, there was a reason Regina came to Arendelle. Snow White and Prince Charming were rumored to be hiding there, thanks to a queen sympathetic to their cause.

It would be something to cast aside without a second thought, ordinarily. But he remembers what he heard much earlier about the king and queen being in hiding in another kingdom. And the woman he saw Emma talking to just before he pulled her away seemed familiar in a way he was too hurried to think about. Killian didn't recognize her face, but _pieces_ of it -

Of course, it's also entirely possible that he's entirely wrong and speculating on gossip. If he were to get her hopes up, that could be viciously cruel. He knows how important her parents are to her, knows the sort of impact being abandoned can have on you. It's natural for her to want answers, especially when she's never met your parents and they're nigh mythic heroes. The news - the suspicion - he has that she may have met one of them without even knowing it could either fill her with happiness or devastate her.

Killian detests the idea of devastating her.

But he can't lie to her, either. If there's anything Emma has been skilled at since they've met, it's getting the truth out of him. Lying to her would only hurt her more, especially if it were about something of this much importance. But the news of the safety of the kingdom brings a lightness to her step, her hand clasped in his as they navigate through the patrons and trade gold for a room key.

-/-

When they get to the room, Killian is oddly subdued. Emma frowns as soon as he enters the room behind her, noticing his agitation. His lips are pulled down, his movements a little agitated, and he's studiously avoiding her gaze. He was fine before, when he was telling her the good news, but now that is out of the way he seems bothered by something else.

Or maybe he was trying to protect her feelings.

"Is everyone really okay?" she asks, concerned.

"Everyone is fine, love," he reassures her swiftly. His reassuring smile is tight, but she can't find a lie in the statement.

"But there's something you're not telling me," she concludes, eyes narrowing. "Isn't there?"

Killian sighs, sitting down on the bed. He pats the space beside him, gesturing for her join him. "You might want to sit down for this."

"You're not exactly calming my fears," Emma mutters, following his instructions. "Are you sure everything is okay?"

"Everyone is fine," he says quickly, eyes meeting hers. "But there's something you should know. Elsa said something before we left that had me thinking."

"What?" Emma asks, puzzled. "Did you two talk before you found me in that room?"

Killian's expression only becomes more serious, which worries her more. He takes her hands in his one, resting them in her lap. He swallows, as if preparing himself for what he's about to say. "She said, erm, that you 'met your'...the sentence was left unfinished. I can only speculate as to what she meant - I wasn't thinking about it in the morning, I was so focused on getting you out - but I heard other news today that makes me wonder."

Emma still feels incredibly confused. "What do you mean?"

"I heard gossip that the reason Regina came to the ball is because…" he wets his lips, as if preparing himself to say the words. He's giving her a beat, she realizes, to brace herself. Emma tenses, dreading what he's going to say. "It's because your parents are rumored to be hiding in Arendelle. Elsa, evidently, granted them asylum."

"Do you think something happened to them?" Emma asks, a note of panic in her voice. "Do you think Regina-"

"No, no," Killian shakes his head immediately. "I was just thinking about the woman you were talking to, right before we left. Did you know who she was?"

The woman. Her parents. Emma feels as if the wind has been knocked out of her, the words a punch to the gut. "You don't think she was…"

He doesn't say anything. Emma's hands cover her mouth and she bends forward, elbows resting against her knees. The woman said her name was Frosty - a name so obviously made up it made Charles and Leia look genuine. Frosty...Snow, it made sense. And when she talked about her husband, about how they always found each other, it seemed _familiar_ somehow. Lancelot's stories may have touched on that, those exact words. The mention of Regina, too, as someone the woman wasn't scared of as much as familiar with.

' _You met your-'_

Mother. She met her mother. Emma wonders how the hell she didn't realize it before.

Killian is the first to speak, his hand gently resting on her back. He goes up and down in soothing motions. "She has your chin, from the looks of it. Or rather, you have hers."

"My parents," Emma croaks in disbelief. "After all this time…"

"They're alive and safe," Killian emphasizes. "And your mother seems like a wonderful woman, though I hardly had time to converse with her."

"We weren't supposed to meet when we didn't even know who each other were," Emma says, voice still taut and close to breaking. She never imagined it would be like this, that she'd crash a ball disguised as a princess and meet her mother without even knowing it. It was supposed to be after, maybe, when Regina was finally defeated and her parents finally knew what she was capable of.

And maybe they'd regret leaving her in the first place.

(It's an unfair thought, but one she has nonetheless. Spending your childhood stealing and hiding and getting thrown out did that to you, she guesses.)

She sits up straighter. Emma doesn't meet Killian's eyes, just keeps them trained on her lap. "Do you think she knows?"

"Aye," he nods. "We said your name and I think the look on her face said as much. We were so preoccupied worrying about Regina that it was difficult to think of much else."

"My parents," Emma repeats. She wonders what happened or what will happen when her father gets back from his trip, if Snow will tell him she met their daughter for the first time since they left her on the street. If he'll be happy at the news because it means she's out there or sad because he wasn't there to meet her. Or, worst of all, if they're disappointed in her for not succeeding yet.

"I'm sorry you didn't meet knowing who each other were," Killian says.

"There are so many things I could've said," Emma starts, frowning. The frown deepens when she tries to think of what she could have said.

She spent her entire life having questions about her family, her background. Why did they give her up? Did they ever want to keep her - or was it a matter of getting a good look at her and deciding she wasn't worth it? Why leave her with a blanket lovingly embroidered with her name and leave her with it? Why leave her confused over what parents they were - were they like the hard like gravel of the street they left her on or soft like the cotton of the blanket they left her in?

All of those questions, more or less, have been answered broadly. They left her because Regina was trying to kill her - but why was it the street? Why not with Lancelot and Guinevere or Ruby and Mulan or - anyone? Was she really that much of a burden? These are things she wants to say but that she's sure she wouldn't have. Not even if she knew that the bird-holding, kind woman was her mother. If Emma knows herself, she just would have stared blankly at her until Elsa and Killian found her - as much at loss for words as she is now.

Emma mulls it all over, her chest heavy with feelings of betrayal and anger that have had twenty eight years to simmer. That, along with guilt for feeling those emotions. She wanted to meet her parents, wanted them to be proud of her - but it's hard to think of the loving couple as the same ones who left her on the street.

"Is it wrong?"

Killian moves his hand to one of hers, intertwining their fingers. "Is what wrong, Swan?"

"Is it wrong that I'm kind of mad?" Emma asks, her voice raspy. "I spent so long thinking I was alone, that they just abandoned me because they didn't care. And I hear that they did, that everything they did they did for my own good. But is it wrong that I wanted them to fight for me? That's what I'm supposed to be doing - fighting - and they couldn't even fight to keep me? They left me alone on the _street._ And as much as I want to…"

She runs out of words to say. In between the surprise of her parents and her just alleviated worry about the safety of the people in Arendelle, Emma hasn't been at her best these past few days.

"You can't forget that you still feel abandoned," he surmises, picking up where she left off easily. "You still feel hurt. Which is normal, given the circumstances. You're hurt. But you still love them."

"I've never even met them before," Emma points out, finally looking up to face him.

"But you still love them," he counters, running his thumb over the back of her hand. "They're your parents. And they have a lot of bloody explaining to do, but they're still the people that were doing what they thought was best. It wasn't right, the way they did it - leaving you like that - but they're still the people Lancelot and Guinevere spoke of, the people who tried to protect you."

"I've spent all this time trying to make them proud," Emma murmurs, letting her head fall on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her in closer. "Defending them in my head, coming up with reasons for everything they did. And now I just...I thought I'd be able to let it go, to forget about it. But I thought of what I would say to them and all I could think was all the questions I've had for years. Why they left me like that, why all they left me with was a blanket. And then, worse, the new ones. They were able to get out - why didn't they take me with them? Why did I get stuck twenty eight years later fixing it for them?"

Killian doesn't say anything. He just sits there quietly with her hand in his, periodically running his prosthetic hand along her arm.

"And I know," Emma inhales sharply, closing her eyes. "I know there's probably some explanation about prophecy or the Blue Fairy or whatever - but it doesn't change the fact that they left. It doesn't change the fact that I spent years alone. I don't know if they ever even looked for me. If they did - with the compass Red had - I'm sure they...they could have if they wanted to. And they didn't."

There's a long pause between them.

"My father," Killian begins, his voice so quiet she has to strain to hear it. "I didn't tell you this part, all those weeks ago, but after my mother passed...it was just me and my father. My brother wasn't home, all I had was him. And, well, he wasn't always the best parent. Forgetful, had a drinking habit that put mine to shame, spent more time at taverns than at home. But I was a young lad and young lads adore their fathers, of course."

Emma presses a kiss to his shoulder. She gets what he's doing, trying to make her feel less alone by sharing his experiences. Validating her feelings, letting her hear his.

"When I was a boy, my father and I boarded a ship with plans to travel the realms. One morning, I awoke, and he was gone. Turned out, he was a fugitive. He had fled in the middle of the night to avoid capture. And in doing so…" Killian pauses, his face impassive. "I was indentured into the service of the ship's captain. My father struck a deal with him - an escape in exchange for me."

"He sold you into slavery," Emma states, her voice grim.

"Aye," he nods, pressing his face into her hair and tightening his arms around her. "That he did. I was able to get out after about a year, staged quite the escape. I was left to the streets, then, found a little bit of work here and there. Hardly enough, but I tried. Liam found me eventually, it took quite a bit of string pulling but somehow I ended up in the Navy. And, well, you know the rest."

"I'm sorry you had to go through all that."

"Hardly your fault my father was a bastard," Killian assures her. "Point is - my father left me for selfish reasons, to save his own skin. From the sounds of it, your parents left you to protect you. It harmed you all the same, but sometimes intentions are everything. You deserve answers, you've certainly earned the right to press for them when you _do_ officially meet them. But you're allowed to love them, too, even if they've hurt you. And you can feel hurt even if they didn't mean to cause it."

Emma doesn't say anything, just lifts her head up and turns to face him. She kisses him, lifting her hands to frame his face and closing her eyes. She isn't good with words like he is - can't declare her undying love or even really tell him how she feels the way she wants to. But Emma can show it.

And she does, with the gentle press of her mouth to his.

"Thank you," she murmurs against his lips, her hands still on his face.

Killian grins at her, her thumbs pressing into the dimples that appear when he does. "Haven't told that story in centuries, believe it or not."

"It helped," Emma replies, her forehead propped up on his. "Helped put things in perspective, for me. I still...if I ever get to meet my parents, I'll have a lot of questions. But…" she holds his gaze with hers, expression tender, "You helped. You always help."

"Do I?"

Emma kisses him again in lieu of answering.

-/-

Killian tells her they should keep a low profile. Just for a little while, until they can feel confident that Regina won't be on quite as much of a warpath. She's never been good at waiting and Killian has never been good at keeping a low profile. Emma may have spent most of her life relying on being unknown and Killian may have waited centuries for revenge, but Emma has limited patience and Killian was about the least convincing blacksmith she's even seen.

It takes exactly two hours for her to get bored of the room at the inn, staring at the ceiling as Killian writes in his log. She'll wait until he finishes with the entry, she swears, but after that she's dragging the both of them out of here.

Emma feels restless. She doesn't like sitting around on her hands and waiting for some wizard to pop up and solve her problems for her, especially when there are people actively out to kill her. The last thing she feels up to is praying for Merlin to appear. Emma may have been emotionally distressed and panicking these past few days, but Killian was right. She's Emma - she's a fighter. Prophecy or not, she's never been a _'wait for destiny'_ kind of girl. It's always been more _'punch destiny in the face'_ with her.

The powers that be may not have picked the best Savior, considering that.

As soon as Killian sets the quill down, she straps her satchel over her shoulder and tugs him by the arm.

"We're going," Emma states matter-of-factly. "We're getting air."

Killian sighs in resignation, though she knows he must be just as restless as she is. "Just leave your jacket. It's a bit recognizable."

"You're the one that bought it," Emma points out, but strips the garment off nonetheless. "Now can we please go?"

"Will we be helping any needy villagers?" Killian asks, shrugging on his coat.

Emma gestures to it in exasperation. "If I can't wear mine, you can't wear yours. That has pirate written all over it. As for helping...we're going out for a walk, I don't expect anything at all to happen aside from conversation and my legs getting some use."

"That's a yes on the helping, then," Killian mutters, taking off the coat and tying a scarf around his neck instead. "How much of a pirate do I look like now?"

"Was that the scarf I got blood all over?" Emma asks, frowning. Her hand comes up to fiddle with it, eyeing it with suspicion.

"Washed," Killian emphasizes. "As I did with all of our clothes on my ship."

Emma grins slightly, hands sliding to his collar. "Mine, too? That was nice of you."

"I can be quite nice sometimes," he chuckles, pulling her closer to him. "Or so I've been told."

She shrugs, scrunching her face even as her hand grips his. "Eh. You're alright."

"Especially when I have you splayed-"

"Alright, you're very nice. Happy, now?" she asks, shaking her head in more amusement than genuine disapproval.

"Quite," Killian replies, a gentle grin on his lips.

-/-

They decide to walk along the path of the village. The inn, for whatever reason, isn't too patrolled by guards. The streets, however, have a few littered around. As loose-lipped as the bar patrons are, no one seems to have the same candor outside of the doors as they do inside. This village isn't much different from the rest in terms of guards, aside from the relative few of them. There are mean-looking ones to be steadily avoided, those just going about their business, and those who have no business working for someone as cruel hearted as they _aren't_.

The last section are a dying breed.

(Not because of Emma, though.)

Emma and Killian are studiously avoid the first type of guard - one who is angrily stalking in the opposite direction they're walking - because apparently large scale sword fights draw a lot of attention.

"It's pretty warm," Emma observes once the guard passes, not as cold without her coat she expected to be. "I guess spring is starting to bloom."

"Aye," he agrees, before thinking about the words out of his mouth. "Wait, are we truly discussing the weather?"

Emma frowns. "Ugh," she twists her expression into one of disapproval, "a day of 'laying low' and we're already getting boring."

"Nonsense - we could never be boring," Killian insists, walking forward. She could swear she could hear something, something besides him, but he's still leading her by the hand and the sound fades. "With the queen feeling particularly bloodthirsty, I just think we should minimize the target on our backs. And that isn't to say that we have to discuss the weather. Did I ever tell you the story of when my ship had a kraken nearly-"

Emma hears the sound again. She raises a finger to motion for him to quiet. "You hear that?"

"Hear what?" he asks, perplexed, but the noise - a pained moaning - sounds again and he freezes. "It sounds like…"

"Someone needs our help," Emma surmises, already chasing after the sound.

Killian follows her with just a tinge of exasperation, his hand still in hers. They cut through some alleys, the noise getting closer and closer until they find the source. A kid with dark brown hair is hunched on the dirt, back pressed against a building. It's not until they edge closer, stepping forward little by little, that they see the wound on his stomach his small hands are pressed against. For a moment, all Emma can do is look at him in horror.

"Hurts," the boy says, voice cracking in pain.

Killian is already leaning down to meet his eye level, muffling curses and carefully moving the boy's hands off of his open cut. It's horrible, deep and bloody and if this kid doesn't get help soon...

Killian unravels his scarf from his neck to wrap it around the wound as tightly as he can manage. It makes her seize up, the sight of a kid who looks like he's been cut by swords she spent years in her childhood avoiding. It was a much less threatening cut that had Ingrid taking her in, but the threat of what could have happened if she didn't get away hung over her head for years. Emma couldn't sleep through the night for months afterwards, fearful of what would happen if she was discovered.

"Swan?"

At Killian's voice, Emma snaps out of it and crouches next to them. She ties the knot of the scarf and runs her hand over the boy's brow soothingly. "Hey, shh, it's okay. You're going to be okay. We're going to get you help, alright?"

"Don't," the boy gasps, sucking in air to cope with the pain. Her heart aches for him, hand running up and down his cheek in what she's hoping is a calming touch. "You can't. I don't...I don't want to get more people hurt."

"What do you mean, lad?" Killian asks, still holding his scarf in place on the child's side to staunch the bleeding. "You need attention, more than what we can give you - as much as we may want to. I can carry you to the nearest healer, or Swan -"

Emma glances at her palms, splaying them out in front of her. "I don't know if I can…a cut that deep…"

The boy shakes his head all the more vehemently. "Please, don't. They can't heal someone who has been punished by the queen."

Emma's expression hardens.

"Why?" she asks, voice breaking in anger. She's angry because she's so, so tired of witnessing the endless horrors this woman is capable of. She's angry because this kid hasn't lived long enough to do anything wrong, even if it's just offending the queen. "What was their excuse for doing this to you?"

"I stole bread," he gasps out, still out of breath with the exertion it takes to speak - gods, he isn't going to have much time if they don't get him help _soon_ , "It's against the law."

"I can feel your ribs. You were starving," Killian points out, fury seeping into his own tone. "And the woman's guards..."

"It's nothing they haven't done before," Emma tells him, her lip quivering. "When I was a kid, his age...we need to get him help and quick."

"Parents?" Killian asks the boy, but he just shakes his head. That's all the answer they need. The boy wheezes, visibly weakening with every passing minute. Emma tears up, knotting her hand in the poor kid's hair and holding his hand with her other.

Killian looks anguished, eyes fixed on the boy on the ground bleeding out despite his best efforts to stop the flow. His hand is stained with blood - blood of this kid - and he presses harder, still, pressing his prosthetic hand over it as well.

He's getting paler and paler. Emma suppresses a sob and moves her hand from the boy's head to rest on top of Killian's on his stomach, hoping that the added pressure would keep him around that much longer. She wills whatever power let her heal Killian's wounds all those days ago to work now, to let her help this kid. Emma has seen Ingrid do it a hundred times before, done it herself just the once, but she doesn't know if she's strong enough to fix a wound this big, this critical.

All she could do was small tasks before. Healing a scrape wasn't much bigger.

Emma hiccups, fingers tightening over Killian's and trying to focus on seeing this kid healed, envisioning skin that isn't sliced and a child who isn't on the verge of death. Emma tries, tries to find the warmth in her palm and the rush of feeling, looking at the kid's face in the hopes it will suddenly indicate a miraculous recovery - but she can still feel the blood sticky on Killian's fingers and his face is still contorted with pain.

Killian catches her eyes, understanding her expression immediately. "It didn't work," he says in grim realization.

Emma shakes her head, tears streaming down her face.

"What's your name, lad?" Killian asks, words thick and clouded with emotion.

"Henry," he replies simply. "My name is Henry."

"Henry," Emma repeats. She lifts her hand from his wound, just for a second, to pull him into her lap -

Killian keeping pressure on his wound throughout. To provide comfort, any of it, to this kid is the priority, here. A boy bleeding out in her fucking arms for not wanting to die. "My name is Emma. This is Killian."

"I could try carrying you, still, see if I could find a healer," Killian attempts, the feeling of uselessness evident in his tone. "Please, let me help."

"I'll die before we get there, anyway," Henry grunts. The resignation in his tone makes her heart feel as if it's breaking in two. He's so young, too young. Too young to know this suffering and too young to lose this much hope.

"Maybe if we switched hands," Emma tries, looking up at Killian. "If I just put my hand under and you over, maybe it needs to be direct. I just - I can't let him."

"I know, Swan," he reassures her.

She rests her hand next to his, quickly moving it to press against Henry's wound while he presses his hand down on hers. Emma closes her eyes, taking deep, steadying breaths. Emma has to do this, she can't fail. If she fails, this kid will die. She can't fail.

"Any better?" her hands are shaking and she feels Killian's doing the same on hers. Henry's hand is steady in her other one, but it's becoming limper by the second. "Please, I just want to make it better."

The words are plaintive, begging, and not doing any good. Henry just shakes his head. She tugs him closer.

"It's going to be okay," Emma murmurs into his hair over and over again, resting her chin on the mop of dark locks on his head.

She hates lying.

It's not going to be okay, not when she can't even do what she's meant to - she can float a feather, light a candle, close up a scratch but is going to let a child die in her arms because she's incompetent. Emma is trying, trying so hard, but it still won't be enough.

She notices tears trailing down Killian's face as he doesn't even bother to wipe them. He scoots closer to Henry and Emma, desperation marring his features. "Henry, my boy, is there anything we can do for you? Anything at all - we'd do anything in this world to make you comfortable. Please understand that, lad."

"I used to love stories," he says, and Emma's heart drops when she realizes why he said _'used to'_ , because he thinks it's already over. And it can't be, not when he has so much more of a life to live. She doesn't even know the kid, neither of them do, but they've _been_ him. Alone, orphaned, hopeless. The difference is they had someone to help them before it was too late, to save them. Emma can't even be that.

Killian clears his throat, though it doesn't help the tears in his voice, really. "I think I can do that, lad."

So he tells a story of a rogue pirate with a hooked hand on various adventures, battling mermaids and krakens and royal navies with an obvious autobiographical slant. Killian goes on to talk about a Savior - smart, hard-headed, and brilliant with a sword - who teams up with the pirate to help an extraordinarily brave boy slay monsters of all manner.

Henry laughs and sighs and frowns at all the right parts, and Emma knows can't let this kid die. She presses a kiss to his head, on a patch of his hair that's been soaked through with her tears, and hopes. Hopes that they can tell him more stories, hopes that he can keep his eyes open and his heart beating, hopes that this stupid wound would just heal itself and hopes that she won't have to watch a kid who reminds her so much of herself die.

She wishes she could stop death, as impossible as that seems.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," Henry says, in almost a whisper. She feels a sob wracking through her body at what these words could mean. Killian's face falls as he realizes, too. He put up a brave face for most of the tale and the minutes it took to tell, but his eyes are still red when he squeezes them shut, shaking his head.

"I'm so, so sorry," she says, the words obscured by how raw her voice sounds. "I'm so sorry."

"No," Henry shakes his head. "It _doesn't hurt_ anymore. Look."

Killian and Emma wear matching expressions of confusion, lifting their hands - cautiously - from Henry's wound. The blood flow seemed to have stopped. They unwrap Killian's scarf carefully, revealing right where he was cut. Henry's tunic still has a tear. Killian's scarf is still drenched in red, there's no getting the bloodstains out now. Henry's skin, though, looks fresh and untouched.

Both of their jaws drop at the sight.

"See?" Henry adds, sitting more upright on Emma's lap.

They start laughing hysterically, desperately because there's nothing else to do, no other reaction they can have. Here is a child, just bleeding out before their eyes, suddenly as good as new. Emma embraces Henry tight in her arms. Killian ruffles Henry's hair, pressing a kiss on top of his forehead, then Emma's in something that can only be described as relieved euphoria.

It's the closest thing to a miracle she's even seen - the kind Ingrid was able to perform on patients who came in and out of the cottage. Except then, at least, they could always have a small fraction of hope. Here, all they had was desperation.

It looked as if her healing powers finally decided to work. They cut it ridiculously close.

"The Savior," Henry says the words as if they're an explanation, a wide smile on his lips. He turns to look at Emma, looking much younger than he did a moment ago without the weight of his life on his shoulders. "From the story - you're the Savior."

Emma can't find the words, so she just holds him tighter.

Killian's eyes meet hers, alight with mirth, as he cocks his head at her as if he's waiting for her to say something, admit something. "I knew you could do it, Swan. Just had to believe, is all."

-/-

They take him to their room at the inn after feeding him a large, hot meal. He's still weak, even though he's healed. Henry chatters throughout the entire thing - asking them questions like _'How long have you been doing this?'_ and _'How many people have you healed?'._

Killian and Emma answer all they can, relieved and amused by his curiosity. Emma tucks him into the blankets the way she remembers Ingrid used to do for her (that Snow might have done for her, if things were different). Killian sits on the other side of Henry, watching them both with a gentle fondness. Emma brushes the hair off of Henry's forehead.

"You still feeling okay?" Emma asks, her features pinched in concern. She doesn't feel a fever or anything, but she's still worried. Healing a little cut was one thing, a mortal wound was another.

"Yup," Henry nods cheerfully, covers touching his chin. "All better. Thank you."

"Of course," Emma replies easily, her voice soft. Her eyes go to Killian. "Thank him, too. I couldn't have done it without him."

Killian's answering self-conscious smile is more like a grimace. "Nonsense, lad, Emma did all the work. I just kept your innards in for a little while there."

She almost chastises him for being morbid, but Henry laughs. It's such a change from the kid bleeding out in the streets that they found before, alone and miserable. This Henry - the real Henry, sans massive sword injury - is chatty and curious and good-humored.

"So, do you have other cool powers?" Henry presses Emma for more information, his head propped against the pillow. "Can you turn invisible? Do you have a wand?"

"No and no," Emma answers, her voice light. "I can do little things, I don't really know what I'm doing with my magic most of the time. Healing you is the biggest thing I've ever done."

"And you're Captain Hook from the story, right?"

"Aye," Killian nods. "That I am. Just wearing the prosthetic for now so I don't arouse too much suspicion. It's hard to stay covert with your namesake attached to the end of your arm, eh?"

"Do you still have the hook?" Henry asks eagerly, eyes wide.

Killian chuckles, bending over to retrieve his satchel from the floor. Within a few seconds of searching, he finds the item in question and hands it over to Henry. He takes it with wide eyes, running his fingers over the curve of it.

"So you _are_ Captain Hook. That's so cool," Henry exclaims, handing it back to him. Killian places it back inside of the satchel with a grin.

Emma smiles right along with them, but there's still something that's bothering her. "Have you been staying anywhere, Henry?"

Henry's face falls. "Not really. Sometimes the person who owns this place lets me stay in a room if no one else is in the winter, but it's been really busy here lately."

Killian and Emma exchange frowns.

"What now?" Henry asks, glancing between the two of them. "I mean, after this? Thank you for letting me stay here, but I can...I mean usually I'm okay when I get inside somewhere, most guards are okay and some people give me food sometimes. There are just a few guards that are really mean and angry outside. I can leave and go back to-"

"No," Killian and Emma say in synchronization.

"You're not going back on the streets," Emma promises fiercely. "We'll figure out a way to get you somewhere safe."

"This is no place for a child," Killian adds.

"But," Henry frowns, "it's not like you can stay here, right? You always have to run."

Emma sighs. Henry is right. They need to move on. They should move on. But this kid - he's eleven, he told them, just a year younger than Emma was when she got off the streets - she can't leave him. The guards may not be the brightest bunch, but if they see a kid who they left for dead alive and well Emma and Killian's intervention could be for nothing. There's nowhere else for him to turn, either, with no parents and no family. They may be his last chance. Her gaze flickers to Killian and she knows he's thinking the same thing by the furrow of concern in his forehead.

"Come with us," Emma says finally, her tone leaving no room for disagreement. They'd talked about it once before with Grace, what they'd do if they weren't able to find her father. It would be too dangerous to keep him in this life for too long, but if they can for just long enough to find him a safe place to stay it'll be worth it. "We'll be onto the next soon, but you can come with us."

Killian's eyes meet hers and she knows he understands.

Henry looks at them both in a way that can only be described as awestruck. "But," he begins, voice disbelieving. "What would you guys want with me? I'm just a…." he searches for the right words, settling on them with a dark expression crossing his face. "I'm just a street rat."

"What do you think the both of us started out as?" Killian retorts before she has a chance to, his voice firm. "Let us help you, Henry. We'll find you a safer place to be, a safer place to stay."

"I was an orphan, when I was younger," Emma adds. "I was surviving on scraps for a while, the first few homes that took me in didn't have a lot of patience for me. They had their own kids and I was just consuming gold, y'know, or they just couldn't take care of me anymore. So, past a point, all I had left was the streets. Then this nice woman - Ingrid - she took me in. Without her, I don't know if I'd be here. You're never just a 'street rat', kid. You just haven't found the right home yet. And that's okay, you have us to help you find one."

Emma runs through ideas in her mind. There was the Merry Men's camp, but that was a long ways away from where they are now. The same was the case with the camp Ingrid and the rest were at. The closest place she can think of is…

"Geppetto," Killian finishes before she can even get the name on her tongue. "I'm sure he'd be willing to take the lad in."

Emma grins. "Exactly what I was thinking - he's still in the village, right? Do you think we'd be attracting too much attention going there?"

"They're hardly looking for a child with the Savior and Captain Hook, are they?" Killian says, raising an eyebrow. "Quite the disguise, isn't it?"

"Wait," Henry interrupts, his face perplexed."I don't want to make things more difficult-"

"Difficult?" Killian asks incredulously. " _I'm_ difficult. You're no trouble at all."

"Like we said," Emma adds, "we know what it's like. If we didn't have people who helped us, we wouldn't be here."

"As for Geppetto - if he can bloody well take in a pirate masquerading as a blacksmith, I'd sure a polite young lad should be no problem."

Henry considers this, looking down at the quilt he's covered with. He looks up to meet Killian's eyes a beat later. "Is...Geppetto nice?"

"Absurdly so," Killian reassures him, a soft smile on his face. "You'll be just fine, young sir."

"Will you come visit?" Henry wonders aloud, meeting Emma's eyes. "If I go there, will you visit? I know you can't...but maybe when it's all over?"

"Yeah," Emma replies warmly, her hand taking hold of his again. "Of course we can."

"As much as you want us to," Killian agrees readily. "Say the word and we'll be right there."

Before Emma can even register it, Henry has his arms around both of them in a second. Killian lets out a sound of surprise and Emma's eyes widen, but they both reciprocate within seconds. Emma scoots just a bit closer so she can hug him tighter. She can feel Killian's prosthetic on her back while his hand is in Henry's hair.

"Thank you," Henry tells them gratefully. "I've never really had a family."

"Well," Emma responds, trying to keep her voice matter-of-fact. Her eyes water, overwhelmed by the simple statement and all it means. They're not sad tears as much as overwhelmed ones. "You do, now."

"Aye," Killian agrees, his own voice sounding a little choked up. "That you do, lad."

Henry slides back down to the pillows, curling up to sleep. He's out like a light in about five minutes, the exhaustion of the day taking its toll on him. They still watch over him carefully, almost unwilling to take their eyes off of the kid that almost died in their arms.

"Wanna take the floor?" Emma suggest to Killian, keeping her voice quiet so she doesn't wake Henry up. "I pulled a blanket and pillow down on the floor before I got Henry in bed. We might be able to get another room, but I don't want to-"

"You don't want to leave," Killian finishes. "Neither do I. Boy nearly died, if something happened I don't know if I'd be able to forgive myself. The floor sounds like a splendid idea, love."

Emma gives him a small smile. Killian walks to her side and sits down on the floor, gently guiding her down with him by the hand. He settles on the pillow. Emma settles by him, head resting on his shoulder. Killian just takes the blanket and drapes it over them, pressing a kiss into her hair and putting his arms around her.

She almost thinks he's fallen asleep when he speaks, his words so quiet she nearly has to strain to hear them. "When I was a boy, I had trouble sleeping. On the ship I was forced to work on, on the streets...I'd look up at the rafters or the ceiling or the stars in the sky unable to succumb to sleep. I wondered why my father was willing to trade me, where my brother was."

Emma tilts her head up to look at him.

"And in Neverland," Killian continues, his voice returning to its normal volume. "You can hear the Lost Boys crying out. Many members of my crew couldn't, but I could. The cries of those abandoned that only the abandoned can hear."

His knuckles slide up and down her back. Emma just burrows herself further into him. "Even after Ingrid took me in," Emma says, "I couldn't sleep. I kept on thinking of the guards finding me, what they'd do. I was just a lost little girl. Who didn't matter and didn't think she ever would."

"You matter," he tells her without hesitation..

"And so do you."

Her eyes go to where Henry is still sleeping on the bed, though he isn't visible from her vantage point on the floor. She sighs, finally letting her eyes fall shut. "I just don't want him to have to keep going through what we did."

"He won't," Killian promises. "We'll make sure of it."


	19. Abandonment Issues

**A/N: If you're one of those getting exasperated with the plot slowing a bit, I wouldn't worry about it for too long. This is another long, characterization-heavy chapter but I can assure you - action is coming. You're going to have so much action you're not going to know what to do with it. It's definitely an interesting writing challenge for me, though, to try and balance a bunch of aspects of storytelling at once. There's trying to have the relationship and character focus (which, to be honest, is kind of the backbone of this entire fic - or at least I hope it is) and still moving the plot forward and exploring all of the themes that sort of diverge from that. The plot is more of an extension of the characters than the characters are of the plot for me when I write, so that's why the longest chapters tend to be the most character study-focused before shit starts hitting the fan.**

 **Also - writing a lot of these character interactions in this chapter? Honestly some of the most gut-wrenching writing experiences in this whole fic. I hope that transfers to reading it. Thank you guys so much for reading and sticking around with me on this ridiculously long ride. I hope you can stick with me for about another 5 chapters. And maybe sequels, if you're up for it.**

 **I hope you like this chapter!**

 **-/-**

The forest is hardly the right environment for a child, Killian will be the first to admit.

Traveling to villages, however, requires a great deal of footwork. Killian's maps always lead them to the quickest paths, ones that often involves cutting through trees and other natural fixtures in the kingdom. Thankfully, these routes are typically the least polluted by guards, as well. Still, it's a great deal of exhaustion and not a lot of rest. While these may be bearable conditions for him and Emma - who have grown used to uncomfortable situations over the years and have thrown themselves into a dangerous quest with full knowledge of what it entails of - asking the lad to accept them seems a bit much. Feet begin to hurt, the strain of constant fear of what could happen when backs are turned starts to have an effect, and boredom of the ceaselessness of traveling certainly plays a part.

Henry, to his credit, doesn't seem to mind any of it in the slightest. He's an enthusiastic traveling companion, eagerly making conversation and fascinated by his surroundings. It occurs to Killian with a pang that the lad has seen his own share of bad conditions. At least now, he's sure the boy reasons, he's not alone.

"So," Henry begins, trudging alongside the two of them. "This is what you guys do? Walk around a lot and fight stuff?"

In any other mouth, it'd sound like complaining. In his, it sounds as if he's just joined the most exciting adventure.

"It's walking and fighting," Killian acknowledges with a grunt. "Gets a bit tedious, sometimes, but it gets the job done."

"It's not as glamorous as stories make it sound," Emma adds. "I guess twelve consecutive hours of trudging forward isn't as interesting as big battles are."

Killian sweeps his eyes across the clearing they're currently in, mindful of the opportunities the sparse amount of trees - only a few along the edges - presents. The guards are only going to be more vigilant after the humiliation in Arendelle, he knows, which is why he has to be on higher alert. That, and he has one more person to protect.

Emma would resent that statement if he said it aloud, but he knows how much she protects in turn.

"I think it'd be cool to see an actual fight. Not like, the one-sided stuff with the guards. That wasn't fun," Henry frowns at his stomach to prove his point. "But I've never seen an actual sword fight before."

Killian's gaze narrows on the horizon, taking note of the tiny specks that seem all too familiar. Henry nearly says something else, but Emma softly shushes him.

"Be careful what you wish for," Emma mutters, her eyes fixed to the same spot Killian's are. "You ever climb a tree, Henry?"

Killian draws his sword. Henry looks understandably rather nervous. "Um, yes?"

"Do you need help getting up one?" Killian motions to a nearby tree with his sword. "With your injury yesterday, it may be best if one of us gives you a boost."

"I thought you said I could make a good decoy, because they wouldn't expect you guys to be with a kid," Henry says.

"A bit more difficult to explain when you're in the middle of a forest, lad. Perhaps we could convince them we're on an innocent family vacation, but we're not willing to risk you," Killian explains, motioning to the barely visible guards in the distance. "We've taken numbers like that before, we can do it again. Now, can you get up that tree on your own?"

Henry is climbing up one before Killian can even continue. Killian lets out a sigh of relief when Henry becomes cloaked in the newly growing leaves. Emma draws her own sword, eyeing the quickly approaching group of guards with determination.

"Stay up there until we tell you it's okay to come down, okay?" Emma calls to Henry, directing her voice towards the tree he's sitting in.

"No matter what you hear," Killian adds.

Emma looks up at the branches dangling from another tree thoughtfully. "You know, the element of surprise could be handy."

Killian looks at her with confusion, not catching her meaning.

She points with her sword up to the tree unoccupied by Henry. "How do _you_ feel about climbing?"

-/-

The plan works without much of a fuss. They drop from the tree with swords swinging and the guards are taken care of in a matter of minutes. It's a bigger crowd of six or seven - they seem to be learning their lesson about traveling in smaller groups - and the horses they're riding in on make it a little harder to fight. They manage, though. Emma thinks the surprise attack may have been part of it.

An added bonus is that they manage to get two horses out of the deal before the rest run away.

Killian grabs the reigns of one and she takes the other, carefully calming it with a hand patting its nose. They can help with the walking, at least. Emma gets leg cramps from all of it sometimes, she's certain Henry has to be tired out after hours of it.

"Is it safe to come down yet?" Henry asks, his voice carrying down from above.

Emma eyes the bodies of the guards with a wince. She meets Killian's eyes, gesturing silently to the bloodiness of the scene. He gets the point, quickly tying his horse to the nearest tree, taking hold of a fallen guard by the arms, and dragging him out of sight into the brush. Emma follows suit.

"Uh, give us a minute and we'll," Emma grunts in exertion, trying to move a heavy guard. It's proving to be a lot harder than it looks. Killian sends her a look while moving one of his own - a clear offer to take care of the rest - but she shakes her head. "We'll let you know. Just hang, ugh, in there!"

It's a struggle, but they manage to clean up within a few minutes.

"Alright," Killian calls. "You need help getting down?"

Henry drops to the ground without hesitation, landing on two feet. Emma can't help but wince at how far the drop was. "I got it! Did you get all of them? Wait, are those horses?" Henry exclaims excitedly, nearly rushing to one before Killian holds up an arm to keep him back.

"Whoa, careful lad. You get too quick with a horse and you can frighten it. We don't want you getting trampled."

"Sorry," Henry apologizes, frowning at the horse in question. It's calm, the horse is, but Emma can't blame Killian for not taking any chances. "Are we riding them to where we're going?"

"That was the intention," Killian replies, patting the horse lightly on the back. The other is still tied to another tree, neighing intermittently. "Sorry about the sudden fighting, lad. It wasn't planned."

"It's okay," Henry replies immediately. "I mean, it was pretty cool. It reminds me of one of those adventure stories."

She can't help but feel guilty for drawing him away from one dangerous situation only to pull him into this one. Guards and battles were day to day life for them, but it certainly shouldn't be for a child. Rough background or not, this isn't how the kid should have be forced to live. Hopefully when they get to Geppetto's - if he takes him in, which Emma is almost completely certain he will - it'll be a much easier life for him.

"You're not," Emma grimaces. "I don't know, traumatized? A guard almost killed you, we couldn't blame you if-"

"No!" Henry exclaims. "Are you kidding me? That was awesome! Do you always do that?"

"Only when people are trying to kill us," Killian retorts.

"Which is…" Emma winces, grimacing at the blood on the grass. Her thoughts go back to the bodies they hid in the bushes so they wouldn't have to subject Henry to seeing all of the carnage. They're definitely not the most ideal babysitters. "Most of the time."

"We won't let them touch a hair on your head," Killian promises. He crouches down to Henry's height to get eye-level with him. "That we can promise you. Now, let's get you away from this unpleasant sight, aye? This horse seems patient, introductions between the two of you shouldn't be any trouble at all."

Henry beams at him.

She wonders if this is the life she didn't have with her parents. If this is what could have been had they chosen to keep her rather than sending her away for her own good. It could have been constantly fleeing and fighting for their lives, waging battles right in front of her. But it would have been worth it, Emma thinks, looking at it now. Emma would have known that people cared about her, that they'd be willing to fight for her.

Now, she isn't certain that they ever were.

Killian's voice breaks her out of her thoughts. "Aye, there we go, lad. See, the horse seems to like you just fine."

Henry is carefully petting the nose of the horse, smiling as it nickers at him. Killian is standing straight up again, carefully holding the reigns of the horse. Emma can't help but soften at the sight, a smile of her own on her face.

"I can ride with him," Emma says, looking to Killian. "That way we can put our bags on your horse."

"Sounds like a plan," Killian replies, still holding the reigns as she climbs onto the horse's saddle. Henry takes a step back from petting, keeping a watchful eye on his new animal friend. "It should cut our traveling time quite a bit, traveling on horseback rather than walking on foot. I'd venture to say we should be at the village within about two hours."

He guides Henry up onto the saddle behind her, giving both of them a grin as he steps back to retrieve his own horse. Killian has come a long way from the man he was with Grace, she can't help but notice. It all seems to come easily to him now, none of the fears associated with taking care of children showing in him.

"Can we name her? The horse?" Henry asks, his arms wrapping around her midsection. Emma can only laugh.

"We can name her whatever you want, kid."

-/-

Killian is right - with the horses they get to Geppetto's village within just a couple of hours. It hasn't changed too much from the last time Killian was here. Everyone seems a bit more on edge, which is understandable, given the Savior was found in their midst. They still manage to tie the horses up at a nearby stable without much fanfare. Hopefully the guards won't recognize them as their own, but if they do…

Well, it's hardly as if they've attached their names to the saddle.

They walk to Geppetto's shop, Henry peppering in questions about him along the way that they do their best to answer. Killian doesn't know how he's meant to know the man's bloody favorite color, but Emma is able to fill in the gaps much better than he can. Truthfully, Killian isn't sure how the man will react to seeing him again. He's been ignoring the thought in favor of focusing on getting Henry to a safe home, but it plagues him nonetheless.

Killian spent much of his time in this village wondering how the kindly man who helped him would react to knowing who he really was. He's a tad fearful of those anxieties becoming reality. When they get to the entrance of the shop, these worries twist in his gut like a knife.

He wonders if Geppetto would be so mistrustful of him that he'd cast out Henry. It's one thing for his feelings to be hurt, another if his wrongdoing inadvertently punishes someone undeserving. Killian doesn't have too much time to contemplate it before Emma opens the door.

"Geppetto," Emma greets, a wide smile spreading across her face as she steps through the door of the shop. Killian stays carefully behind her and Henry, his heart feeling too heavy to bear looking the man in the eyes. The last time he was here, he was lying to Geppetto about who he was. Killian was exploiting his kindness and lying, two deeds he's sure will be difficult to gloss over. "It feels like it's been forever!"

In a show of cowardice, Killian doesn't follow them inside. He instead presses his back to the side of the building, listening in on the conversation without being seen. It's only a matter of time before Emma notices his absence and drags him back inside - something she _would_ most definitely do without a moment of hesitation - but his brain and his heart are on two very different paths at this point in time. One is telling him that he's being foolish and scared, too afraid of a man's impressions of him to face him directly. The other is telling him that he can't bear to see how the man may look at him when he connects Killian Jones, blacksmith, to Captain Hook, pirate and alleged assassin for the woman determined to kill Emma.

His heart is winning out.

"Emma! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" Geppetto exclaims. "How wonderful to see you again, I've been hearing so many tales of what the Savior is up to. And who is this young fellow beside you?"

"This is Henry," Emma introduces. Henry must turn shy, then, because Killian doesn't hear so much as a peep from him. "We found him back in another village almost bleeding out - I healed him, because apparently I can do _that_ now - and we were wondering if maybe you'd be interested in taking him in for a little while? We don't have anywhere else to really try putting him. Nowhere with a roof, anyway, aside from a few people we've met once in our lives. Trusting them with our lives is one thing, with Henry's it's another."

She's talking a bit too much, her words coming out in a rush. Killian can't help but be endeared, even if he's listening through the door.

"Of course," Geppetto says without hesitation. "I can take Henry in - I have some extra room upstairs. However, where's the other part of your ' _we'_? I have a sneaking suspicion that the Captain Hook traveling with the Savior is the very same Killian Jones who took me in to see your mother."

There's a beat of silence that Killian is sure is illustrated by Emma looking around for him in confusion inside of the shop.

"Killian?" she calls, her footsteps sounding closer and closer to the door. "Where'd you go?"

He takes a deep breath and opens the door. "Right here, love," he replies, carefully avoiding Geppetto's eyes. This is just embarrassing, truthfully, but now that he's made his mess he's going to have to...well, make it look like it's a purposeful mess. Cleaning it seems out of the realm of possibility at the moment.

"Everything okay?" Emma asks, eyeing him with suspicion. The woman has always been too astute for her own good.

"Er, there was a -" Killian gestures back to the doorway. "Wasp's nest, from the looks of it. Had to stay and knock it down. Wouldn't want anyone to get stung by the bloody beasts."

"A wasp's nest," Geppetto repeats dubiously.

"Aye. Nasty little buggers, wasps are," Killian continues, his lie becoming more and more pathetic. It's incredible, really, how he could have spent centuries as a cut-throat pirate proud of boasting of his various sins. Now, he's blustering and stammering with excuses of bugs to a blacksmith he fears won't like him anymore.

"You get stung?" Emma asks, not seeming as if she buys it any more than Geppetto does.

"Empty nest," Killian scratches behind his ear with his hand, trying desperately to seem casual. By the look on Emma's face, he's failing miserably. "Just didn't want to give them a place to come back to, should they choose to."

"Bet you he thought I was going to take a torch to him after I found out he was Captain Hook," Geppetto snorts from behind the counter.

Killian's answering laugh has an obvious edge of nervousness to it. Emma shakes her head in amusement and Henry just looks confused.

"Killian," Emma says, her eyes still on him. "You do know Geppetto couldn't hold a grudge if he tried."

"I could if I _tried_ ," Geppetto corrects. "It's just I have no desire to. Killian, you saved my life. You really were that afraid of entering the shop after that? Add that to the fact this Captain Hook fellow seems to be saving Emma's life a great deal and I could hardly resent you."

It's as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. "I would understand if knowing the nature of my, erm," he hesitates, "deceit could make you feel less than endeared to me. I certainly could not blame you if your welcoming nature towards me changed."

"Is your name still Killian Jones?" Geppetto asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Aye," he nods.

"Then nothing has truly changed, my boy."

Emma watches the exchange with a small smile, her expression knowing. He swallows a retort about being older than the man (he hasn't been called _'boy'_ in a very, very long time) and replaces it instead with a shaky grin. "I'm glad to hear that."

"I knew you couldn't be a blacksmith, anyway. Sorry to break it to you, Killian, but your skills in that area were…"

"Dreadful," he finishes, chuckling. "I know. It's never been in my skillset, I'm afraid."

"You got decent," Geppetto grants.

"Never as good as you were, however."

"I was always better with wood, believe it or not," Geppetto replies. "Had a bad experience with the craft, though, so I switched to metals instead."

"So you make swords?" Henry pipes up, looking at Geppetto. The older man grants him a kind smile.

"That I do, my boy," he gestures around at his shop. "I'm a blacksmith. Killian, here, helped me make them for a little while. That's when he met Emma."

"You met Emma while posing as a blacksmith?" Henry asks him, his eyebrows raised.

Geppetto chuckles. "Carried me in to see Emma's healer mother, he did. That's how they met."

"I knew there was something shady about him from the start," Emma says teasingly, bumping her shoulder against Killian's. "You're a terrible liar, you know.."

"That is true," Geppetto nods.

Killian lifts up hand and prosthetic defensively. "I'm a pirate. Of course I'm a capable liar, perhaps I wanted you to figure out the truth for yourselves."

Emma points towards the door with her thumb. "And I'm definitely going to find that wasp's nest knocked down on the stoop, right?"

Killian scratches the back of his ear once more.

"So, how have things been?" Emma prompts, looking at Geppetto once more. "I didn't really get the chance to say goodbye, before. Running for my life got a little too literal."

"Surprisingly, it's been rather quiet," Geppetto says, leaning forward on the counter until he's propped up by his forearms. "The good news is that I don't think the word of you being the Savior in particular got around. I overhear guards speaking, sometimes, and it seems that they're just as confused about the disappearance of the healer as everyone else is."

"So John kept his mouth shut," Emma concludes. "Good for him."

Killian frowns, unsatisfied with the answer. Guards nearly killed Emma by poisoning her - though he's willing to bet one of the culprits had to recognize her either after retreating from a fight or from when she was posing as a guard - so it's hard to envision the guards not connecting at all anything here. "I overheard the men who went after Emma talking before she fled, they said the villagers were the ones who said Emma was the Savior. They had her name, mate."

"They were...taken care of," Geppetto replies, his voice low.

"Did you kill them?" Emma asks, incredulous. Killian, too, can't help but be surprised at the insinuation. He didn't know the man had it in him.

"No!" Geppetto exclaims. "No, no - I know a woman good with spells, just had a bit of a charm on them to ensure they won't talk on that particular subject. They were hoping to get a cut of the reward, so the only person they told was the guard. Ingrid and I just wanted to ensure that word didn't get around."

"A woman good with spells?" Emma parrots, perplexed. "You mean Ingrid? And if it was kept so much on lockdown, why were there still guards going after me the second I stepped out of there?"

"Well, you did just kill one of their own and fled immediately afterwards," Geppetto reminds her. "Eventually, the ones that went after you caught on to the fact you were the Savior. The ones left here were a bit thick-headed. John, believe it or not, was one of those who prevented them from connecting the dots of the Savior passing through just as you and Ingrid left."

"How do you know all this?" Emma asks.

"Ingrid and I had a brief discussion after you left. As did Reul and I. That's the woman good with spells I was speaking of."

"Reul? The weird potion lady who used to visit Ingrid a lot?" Emma blinks. "I've always wondered why Regina never went after her."

This part of the conversation has Killian feeling a tad lost. Henry, too, from the looks of it.

"Reul is talented at keeping things hidden. She knows a great deal about magic," Geppetto replies. "She's helped me many times over the years."

Emma noticeably perks up. "Do you think she'd know anything about a wizard named Merlin?"

"Merlin?" Henry repeats, awed. " _The_ Merlin?"

Killian chuckles, setting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm unaware of any other, lad."

"Well," Geppetto ponders aloud, stroking his beard. "I suppose if anyone would, it'd be Reul."

"I should go see her," Emma declares, nearly turning around before Geppetto's voice stops her.

"It's nearly dark out," Geppetto insists. "You should get some rest, all three of you. I have two extra bedrooms, one of you can stay with Henry and the other can take the other bedroom."

Emma flushes when she turns back around, blush spreading across her cheeks. Killian can't hold back his smirk, though he quickly attempts to mask it.

"That, um," Emma coughs. "That won't be…"

"Henry can have his own room," Killian says, trying to sound lackadaisical. "No problem, we can share."

Geppetto raises his eyebrows at both of them. "Alright," he concedes. "I just don't want to hear anything, alright? And, well, the walls are thin and the boy's bedroom will be right-"

"You know what," Emma announces, already exiting the room and heading upstairs with visible embarrassment. "It's fine, I think right now I want to find the nearest hole and sleep in that instead. Maybe live there forever. And die there."

Killian snorts. Henry just seems happy to have his own room.

"How long can I stay here for?" Henry asks, addressing Geppetto. "I mean the room and...everything."

"As long as you need to, son," Geppetto reassures him immediately. "It gets a bit too quiet in this place, it'd be nice have another person around. You remind me a bit of my son, you know, before he -" he stops himself abruptly, clearing his throat, "well, it'll be nice to have you, Henry. Stay as long as you want."

Henry smiles gratefully at the man. "Thank you, sir."

Geppetto waves the title off. "Call me Geppetto, Henry. You two hungry?"

Emma is already upstairs, likely trying to prepare herself to look Geppetto in the eyes once more. Henry perks up at the mention of food.

"I mean, we had some food while walking in the afternoon," Henry begins, casting a guilty look Killian's way.

He rolls his eyes affectionately, ruffling the boy's hair. "I'm ravenous, mate. Packed bread and berries while on the way isn't the most filling meal, I know, Henry. No need to feel shame about being hungry."

"What Killian said," Geppetto echoes. "I can whip up stew in no time at all."

-/-

After dinner and after Emma gets over her embarrassment (she almost knocks over her flask of water twice and drops her spoon on herself at least once), Emma and Killian settle into a spare room. It's a step above what most inns offer with the additional bonus of being free (they offered Geppetto gold, he absolutely refused to take it). It's easy to settle in with full bellies and the knowledge that they were able to tuck Henry into bed in the next room. He's safe and sound and so are they, for now.

They settle beside each other on the bed, undressed just enough for bed. Emma's head is pillowed on Killian's chest and he's running his fingers through her hair. Her eyes are shut in contentment, just enjoying the moment of peace while they have it.

Killian is the first to break the comfortable silence. "Gepetto has a lovely home, I must admit."

"Haven't you been here before?" Emma asks, nestling further into Killian's arms as she tilts her head up to look at him. "You worked with him for weeks."

"Stayed at the inn," Killian replies. "I was trying to keep my identity concealed, lass. A bit difficult to do in constant close quarters. A man has to have his privacy. He nearly insisted that I don't waste my gold, but I was just as insistent on staying elsewhere. You ever stay over?"

"A few times when I was younger," Emma yawns, feeling fatigue start to settle on her. "Ingrid would make house calls when someone couldn't move - not everyone has someone to outright carry them in, y'know - and she didn't like leaving me alone at night. So I stayed in a spare room at Geppetto's. As a matter of fact," she tilts her head up, looking around. "I think it was _this_ spare room."

"And the other room that Henry is in? That one looked a bit more fit for a child."

"I think that one used to be his son's," Emma says sadly, molding herself back against him. "I don't know, I didn't press him about it. Whatever it was, it obviously wasn't good, so. No sense in making him dredge it up."

"Poor man," Killian comments, his fingers running up and down Emma's back. "I can't imagine the pain of losing a child."

"Yeah," Emma agrees, her voice solemn. "I can't either. I hope Henry likes it here, at least."

"He will," Killian says easily, bending his head forward to press a kiss to the crown of her head. "Geppetto is one of the nicest men I've ever met. He'll have a loving home. That'll mean everything for Henry."

"It will," Emma agrees readily. The thought makes her think again about her own parents. It makes her wonder if they really thought giving her up was for the best to give her a loving home, a safe home. It still doesn't explain why she was left on the street, but maybe they had hopes that the first family kind enough to take a baby in would also be kind enough to keep her.

She sighs.

"Wanna blow out the candle on the nightstand?"

Killain leans over, his chest pressing against her ear more firmly until she can feel his heartbeat instead of just hearing it. With the sound of his breath gently blowing out the flame, the room is submerged in darkness.

-/-

He wakes her up the next morning, his hand running through her hair before his fingers move to trace the shape of her face. She leans into his touch with a slight groan, unwilling to get up and leave the bed. Killian chuckles, the sound low and rumbling and happy, and gently kisses her on the forehead.

"Wake up, sweetheart."

Emma sighs, opening her eyes reluctantly. His hand and wrist frame her face and she takes hold of both, curling her fingers around the skin. He gives her an affectionate grin, his forehead resting against hers. Killian is seated next to her, she notices, nearly fully dressed save for the wooden hand still sitting on the bedside.

"You're already dressed and ready to go when I don't even feel like joining the land of the living," Emma mutters, brushing her nose against his.

"You need your sleep," Killain replies simply. "I didn't want to wake you up before I had to - Geppetto is already downstairs working on swords. I'm getting ready to get Henry out of bed."

"I can do it," Emma says. They're already going to have to say goodbye to him soon enough. A part of her just wants to spend as much time as she can with the kid. It's stupid to get attached, but Emma can't help it. Killian's stomach growls, accentuating her point. "You're hungry. Eat breakfast. We should be able to join you in a little bit."

He looks ready to protest, but he settles for brushing his lips against hers instead. "As you wish, Swan. I'll save you both whatever I can scrounge, aye?"

"Sounds good to me," she agrees.

Killian slides off of her, clicking his false hand into place before he gets out the door. Emma settles back against the pillows, stretching. She waits a few minutes before dressing and padding over to Henry's room. He's out like a light - predictably - and it tugs at her heartstrings to see the kid so innocent and vulnerable. He's both things already, but they stand out even more when he's asleep.

She never would have thought herself as the maternal type. Emma never would have thought a lot of things could be possible before all this happened. If you told her she'd be on the run from the evil queen with Captain Hook because she was apparently Snow White and Prince Charming's long lost daughter a year ago, Emma is fairly positive she'd cry laughing.

There is no room for surprise about anything, anymore.

She shoves the thought aside, settling for knocking on the door beside where she's standing. Henry bolts awake, his eyes wide, and Emma can't help but frown and wonder how loud she must have knocked.

"Sorry," Henry apologizes, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Instinct."

Instinct he learned from a life on the streets. He had to be a light sleeper in dangerous conditions to survive. She knows the feeling all too well.

Emma sits beside him on the bed. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he assures her, "I'm okay. Is everything else okay?"

"Yup, we're all fine. Just wanted to wake you up. Killian is making breakfast in the kitchen, I think, and Geppetto is downstairs working at the forge. I figured you'd be hungry."

"Oh," Henry sits up more at the word _'breakfast'_. "Thanks!"

"Of course. I was just planning on eating, then going to visit the potion lady I mentioned earlier," Emma explains. "Here's hoping she can help me with the magic stuff."

"The magic stuff did kinda save my life," Henry points out.

"It did. But, like I said," Emma shrugs. "It's just floating feathers and lighting candles and mostly accidental healing. I kind of need to get more powerful than that if I ever want to defeat as much as a fly. _'Wait a second for me to fix this papercut'_ doesn't exactly scream Savior powers."

"That's still something," Henry tells her sagely. "Maybe Geppetto's friend _can_ help. And Merlin - by the way, you guys didn't tell me about Merlin."

"It's not as if we've met him," Emma smiles, shaking her head. "That's still a little too mythic for us. Hopefully we can find him. That should help with the magic, at least."

"Maybe practicing a little would help?" Henry suggests.

"Yeah," Emma sighs, moving to stand up. "It probably would. Ingrid tried with me when I was younger, but I couldn't get the hang of it. Maybe now I'd have a better shot."

She's nearly out the door before Henry's voice makes her stop.

"Wait! Aren't you going to practice?"

Emma's face pinches in confusion as she turns around to look at him. "I didn't mean right now."

"Oh," Henry says, sounding disappointed. He visibly wilts.

She feels guilty, moving to sit next to him on the bed cross-legged. "Like I said, it's not like I can do much. I'd rather not have you experience another massive injury and hope that I can heal it. It's probably best left for another time - apparently Merlin is a good teacher."

Henry looks thoughtfully at the pillows beside him, offering one up to her. "You can float feathers?"

"I can float feathers," Emma repeats, mostly to herself. "Alright, then."

-/-

That's how the two of them end up sitting opposite each other on Henry's bed, a pile of feathers between them. She's sure she can shove them back in and sew them back up (might have to ask Killian for help with that - he's a lot better with the sewing than she is), so hopefully Geppetto won't be too upset. That, and Henry has about a half dozen pillows in this room anyway.

"I know there's incantations for stuff like his," Emma mutters, closing her eyes in concentration. "I just was never really any good at them and it's not like I have a spellbook."

"I understand," Henry nods immediately. "You should still try, though. It'd be cool."

That's one way of describing it. Emma laughs, her lips curving into a smile as she opens her eyes again. "If you feel anything of yours start to catch on fire, just shout, alright?"

"Has that ever happened before?"

"It was a candle lighting and it was _once_. I was fourteen. My mom, Ingrid, was quick about dealing with it."

"I thought Snow White was your mom," Henry frowns. "I thought Ingrid was just Ingrid."

Emma shrugs. Explaining her convoluted family tree to Henry wasn't something she envisioned doing, but maybe the explanation isn't too complex after all. "Remember how I told you I used to live on the streets before someone took me in? That someone was Ingrid."

"And Ingrid is your mom, too," Henry summarizes.

"And Ingrid is my mom, too," Emma repeats, nodding. "Family isn't all blood, you know. Sometimes it's just people who give you a home."

Henry's expression turns thoughtful, then. His brow furrows in concentration, absorbing the information. Emma's attentions go back to the task in front of her.

"Anyways, feathers!" Emma lays her hands out on the pillows, letting her eyes fall shut. "It's all in imagining, that much I remember. You just have to feel the lightness of the feathers and something about rising and falling with your breath and," she sighs, abandoning the explanation. "We'll just see if this works."

She shuts her eyes, breathing in and out steadily. She tries to feel the wisps of energy in her palms, the heat that follows. Emma tries picturing the feathers floating, gradually making their ascent in the air. She breathes a little deeper, settling in her position on the bed.

Henry isn't saying anything. She cracks an eye open. The feathers are lying right where she left them, listless as ever.

She opens the other eye. "Nothing?" she asks, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"I think I saw them twitch?" Henry offers. "But your leg was sorta moving by the pillow, so maybe not."

Emma lets out a puff of air, making her hair fly away from her face. "Alright, then. Attempt number two."

She tries the same thing, this time waiting a few more minutes before opening her eyes again.

"Still nothing," Henry tells her.

This is starting to get frustrating.

"I'm starting to become convinced that if I start bawking like a chicken it'll give me better results," Emma scowls at the offending feathers. "They're the lightest things in the world, it shouldn't be hard to make this float. If I can heal a mortal wound, I can float a feather. Even before then, I could do it."

"You could be overthinking it. Maybe you just have to feel it floating, you know?" Henry suggests.

It's not the most helpful advice. She can't hold it against the eleven year old, though.

"Tried that."

"Well, you have to get it to float, right? Imagine, like, floating on your back in the water. With nothing underneath you - it's sorta a weird feeling but magic is sorta weird. Maybe if you think about it and the feathers like that it could help," Henry suggests.

It's not bad advice, phrased like that. Emma nods, taking a deep, steadying breath. She envisions the feathers on the bed, slowing ascending through the air like she did before. She tries Henry's advice next, trying to think of when she used to sneak out to the lake near this village when she was younger. Emma would float in it, just staring up at the stars and trying not to think of what guards could catch her there or how fast she'd need to run if they did. There was always a complete space of separation from her and the ground, from her mind and reality.

"Emma," Henry says her name cautiously, as if he doesn't want to disturb her. "You can open your eyes now."

She does. Feathers are floating all around them, some near the ceiling and some feet from her. There's a wave of them gently guided through the air. Emma laughs, unable to hold back the sound. Henry joins in, fascinated by the scene around him.

"You did it, kid. Without you, these would still be stuck on the bed," Emma beams, sounding awed. "When I was younger, I could only do one at a time. Now... there's this. Let's try making things appear and disappear - that used to be really hard when I tried it. Maybe the feathers will work for this, too."

-/-

It only takes a little while to make the feathers disappear. Next Emma decides to try to get a little more complicated with things out of her sight. Killian's hook, for example, was safely tucked into his satchel in the bedroom. Unlike Killian himself, who is still moving around the kitchen. Henry and Emma pad through the hallway carefully, watching for reactions and hoping the magic manages to work.

The hook appears next to the oven he's working near without any sort of fuss. It's not until Killian nearly knocks it while moving that his eyes widen and he curses. He picks it up, eyeing it with confusion, and in the next blink it's hanging on the lantern in the kitchen.

"Bloody hell," Killian murmurs, staring up at his namesake. Emma decides she's had enough of toying with him and wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind, pressing a kiss to his ear.

"Experimenting with magic. It's going okay, what do you think?"

"Bad form, messing with a man's hook," Killian says, fishing the object in question from over his head. His tone, light and teasing, belies his words. He turns around and wraps his arms around her, his eyes meeting her co-conspirator over her shoulder. "And I see you had a partner in crime."

"I thought it was cool," Henry says, sheepishly.

Emma pulls back, one of her arms still around Killian's waist. "You helped," she reminds Henry, angling to face him. "I get a little too in my head sometimes and think about things in a narrow way. Henry helped make it easier."

"Did he, now?" Killian grins.

"Sure did."

Henry flushes, looking a little embarrassed.

"In a little bit, I'm going to go see what the he- what Reul is up to," Emma catches herself, mindful of her language around the kid. "Hopefully, things will get easier from there on out."

"Want me to come along? Perhaps I'll be able to get some information out of her."

"I can come, too," Henry offers innocuously.

She shakes her head. "Something tells me she'd be less forthcoming in the presence of strangers. Stay here with each other. I should only be a couple of hours, maximum."

"Well then, I'll be here waiting when you get back," Killian replies. "But stay safe, love. Be careful."

"I'll wait a few hours before I go, but I'll still be in the village when I do," she rolls her eyes. "I'll be back before you know it."

"You're the most wanted person in the kingdom. I can't help but feel a bit of worry," Killian frowns. "Are you positive you don't want me to come with you?"

"We'll attract more attention if we're together. It has to be common knowledge that the Savior and Captain Hook are attached at the hip."

She looks pointedly down at where their hips are touching, her arm still wrapped around his waist.

"Fair enough," he grants.

-/-

Emma walks to Reul's shop a few hours later, determined to at least get _some_ answers. She doesn't know much about the woman aside from cryptic statements about her from Ingrid, vague stories from Geppetto, and her own confusing and brief interactions with the woman. There's no bell ringing to signify her entrance when she steps through the door, but Reul turns around to face her all the same.

"Emma Swan," Reul announces slowly. A bit creepily, Emma has to admit. "I knew I'd see you again soon."

"Um," Emma says, awkwardly stepping closer to the counter. "I did _not_ know that. Listen, Geppetto told me about all that you did to help cover up for the whole…" she hesitates saying the word, though the room seems empty, "S-word thing."

Reul just stares at her.

She cringes, quickly rethinking that explanation. "Not that S-word. The other one. The one that rhymes with 'behavior'. Savior. No one's here, right?"

Reul gives her a slight smile that somehow feels condescending. It only serves to make Emma feel more uncomfortable and she shifts her weight on her feet with slight anxiety.

"It's just the two of us. And it was no trouble at all. But you're not here to thank me, are you?"

The woman is astute. Emma will give her that.

"Yeah. I have a friend who has magical powers - well, I don't know if we're really friends, but she has ice powers - and she said that if I needed help with my magic a guy named Merlin should be popping up. Like my own magical fairy godmother or something, except a man who trains me into a powerful sorceress instead of turning my pumpkin into a carriage. You know anything about that?"

"Merlin isn't one you can actively seek, necessarily," Reul explains by not explaining much at all, "Your magic, however, you have to try to find within yourself."

"You're being awfully cryptic," Emma observes, frowning.

Reul remains completely unruffled. "That was not my intention."

"Then what was?"

She sighs, shutting the book in her hands. "Listen, Emma - you know you're special. Ingrid knew that. I know that. You have quite a lot of power that you haven't even gotten the chance to tap into."

"From cryptic to painfully obvious," Emma replies with a groan. "Not the special part - the whole 'untapped power' thing. I'm the Savior. I'm supposed to have…" she gesticulates, grimacing, "Savior-y powers. And so far, I don't have anything that will really help me defeat Regina. She has fireballs. I have parlor tricks and hit or miss first aid."

"You're selling yourself short. That could be the root of some of your problems," Reul sighs. "Emma, magic is about faith. Faith in yourself, faith in others. You can't use your magic if you don't believe in it."

"I believe in it plenty," Emma counters. "It's not like I'm denying magic after being surrounded by it my entire life."

"But you haven't embraced it," Reul argues, folding her hands on top of the counter. "It's one thing to know of something's existence, it's another to accept it as part of who you are."

Emma frowns. She ignores the thought, pushing towards the reason she's here in the first place. "Is there any way I can get into contact with Merlin that you know of?"

"You will once it's time," Reul replies, just as vague as she's been for this entire conversation. "Merlin has a way of appearing right when you need him."

"Yeah, well," Emma scoffs, "I kind of need him right now. I don't want to Regina to be on the verge killing everyone when he decides it's time to drop in for a visit."

"I can't help you find Merlin. I don't even know where he is. All I know is what he does."

"And he does…"

"Just as your friend mentioned, he helps."

Just as it seems like she's getting somewhere, it's right back to confusing. Emma sighs in frustration, her hand coming up to her forehead. Figuring this out is going to give her a hell of a headache. "So, if Merlin is just wandering somewhere else until he somehow determines it's time to show his face, what am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Stay alive," Reul answers simply. "That's your task, Savior."

"Gee, why didn't I think of that one?" Emma retorts sardonically. "I'm serious - what should I be doing right now?"

At her words, there's a chime of the bell on the door. A bell Emma swears wasn't there before. She turns around to see a customer perusing various objects at the front, his expression thoughtful. Reul immediately sets herself on selling merchandise, her expression clearly telling Emma it's time to leave. She groans in exasperation, storming out of the shop without a second look. So much for the woman being helpful.

-/-

Killian is carefully sharpening his sword after doing a thorough job with his hook. The advantage of being in a blacksmith shop, he supposes, is that he's able to ensure his weapons are up to par. Thanks to weeks _posing_ as a blacksmith, he's also developed a slight skill for taking care of his weapons himself. Henry is stationed at a bench next to him, bent over a book in his lap.

Henry likes reading, as it turns out. He explained to Killian that he learned how to read when he was a child through teaching himself and occasional help from tavern-goers. Books were among his favorite things. Fitting escapism for a lad who had to endure too much too young.

"What's this word?" Henry asks, breaking the near-silence. He points to the page, his face scrunched in confusion.

Killian sits next to him, leaning over to read the text. "Ah, _'maelstrom'_. Means either chaos or whirlpool, depending on the context."

"So chaos, then," Henry deduces.

"You ever heard of Charybdis?" Killian asks, taking a rag and carefully buffing the sword in his hand with polish. It's a bit difficult to manage with one hand, but he's had a long while to practice.

"No," Henry shakes his head. "Sounds kinda familiar, though."

"Sea monster that became a whirlpool. Not a friendly beast. Nearly drowned my crew and I, but I took my chances with Charybdis rather than Scylla because I knew the Jolly Roger could withstand nearly anything you threw at her."

"And what's Scylla?"

Killian pauses. Telling the story of a man-eating sea beast may not be the most appropriate. Instead, he elects to avoid the subject entirely. "What are you reading, lad?"

Henry flips it over to show him the cover, his fingers keeping the page marked. "Jack the Giant Slayer. Geppetto had it."

He laughs, throwing his head back. Killian is unable to hold back his reaction, as much as it may confuse Henry. "Jack the Giant Slayer, eh?"

Henry flushes, looking embarrassed.

Killian shakes his head immediately at Henry's shame, attempting to make clear that he isn't laughing at Henry so much as the irony of his choice in literature. "Would you believe Emma and I climbed a beanstalk over a week ago? Found Jack's sword and everything - I think Emma even befriended the giant, from what I gathered."

He perks up at the explanation. "You did?"

"Aye," Killian nods. "From what I hear, this isn't the most accurate account of the battle between the giants and humans. But it's entertaining nonetheless, I'm sure."

Henry's eyes go to the sword in Killian's hand, eyeing it with interest. "Did you fight the giant?"

"Ah, no. Knocked it out with poppy dust for a little while, but there wasn't much fighting involved. Emma told me she bit him, if that counts."

"Bit him?"

Killian shrugs. "I'm only repeating her. Apparently he nearly strangled her, she made due with the resources at her disposal. It just so happened that her resource was her teeth. Teaches you the importance of cleaning your teeth, doesn't it? Oh, and she told me she did point a sword at him. Jack's sword. No real fighting, though."

Henry is enchanted by the tale. "Do you think you could teach me how to swordfight?"

Killian grins, casting the rag he was polishing with aside. "How old are you, again?"

"Eleven."

"That would be a no, then," Killian chuckles, amused, as he reaches over to ruffle Henry's hair. "You still have quite a few years left to go before you should start wielding sharp objects, my boy."

"How many?" Henry asks, a tad petulantly.

"I learned when I was around fifteen. I believe Emma was…" he pinches his face, trying to think of the right number. She told him this story, he knows, but it's been a little while and the details tend to get garbled. "Sixteen?"

Henry seems to accept this with a sigh, slumping next to Killian on the bench. "Can you guys teach me later, then? When I'm fifteen or sixteen?"

The question implies that either of them will be here with him in four or five years. They're both intending on leaving within the week, going on to the next place and starting a new search for this Merlin fellow. It's not as if the Savior and Captain Hook can stay around to babysit - they're just here to drop him off, not raise him. Killian has a vague, dismissive reply on the tip of his tongue. It falters when he sees the hopefulness in the lad's eyes, the attachment that's already clearly started to form.

He thinks of having to learn to do things by himself until he found Liam again. How to survive, how to pilfer food, how to pickpocket with the best of them. Swordfighting isn't something he picked up naturally, it was more just running and hoping for the best. It wasn't until he reunited with Liam that he learned how to hold a sword, how to be courteous, where to draw the line between right and wrong. Geppetto will surely be able to help the boy with a number of things, but his fighting years are certainly beyond him.

Killian can't help but imagine he and Emma teaching Henry how to use a sword with careful instruction, starting out with gentle taps until he can fight with the best of them. Given he was nearly killed by a guard with a sword, him being able to defend himself will be a necessity when he's older. Or perhaps it won't be - if things become less dangerous after Regina is defeated.

But then, there could still be the Dark One to worry about. No amount of sword lessons can adequately prepare anyone for that.

Killian clears his throat. "Aye, perhaps we can."

Henry beams, which gets Killian thinking. He stands up, gesturing to a collection of swords down the hall. Geppetto is still working at the forge in one of the back rooms. "Give me a moment, lad, I think I saw something during my time here that may strike your fancy."

Henry nods, staying put on the bench. He sets the book aside after carefully marking it in place.

Killian ambles through the displays, taking a little while before finding what he's looking for. He grabs three of them when he does. He walks back to where Henry is standing with a spring in his step. Henry, for his part, seems quite enthusiastic.

"Geppetto did tell us he was a carpenter before he was a blacksmith," Killian grins, holding up the wooden swords. "He keeps these around, though very few buy them. More stakes than anything, but you're far less likely to cut yourself with them unless you're really swinging. Maybe a splinter, but nothing too perilous. They can give you a general idea of what a sword feels like in your hand."

Henry's eyes nearly glaze over. "Can we practice with these?"

Killian grins, holding one out to him. "That was the intention. There's a bit of land near the back of the shop, I don't reckon you'd want to practice there?"

He's already running before Killian has the chance to finish his sentence. Killian chuckles, shaking his head in amusement.

-/-

When Emma walks back into Geppetto's shop, Killian and Henry are nowhere in sight. She swears when she left they were on the bench right by the door, but Emma assumes they must have moved upstairs. She takes a few steps near the stairs, but the sound of Killian's voice stops her.

"We're back here, love," Killian calls from the back of the shop. Emma narrows her eyes, following the sound. She sees Geppetto working on a sword on her walk towards wherever Henry and Killian are, but he just gives her a wry smile.

"Reminds me a bit of your youth, I must admit," Geppetto tells her from the forge, shaking his head fondly.

It only serves to make her more confused, her brow furrowing. "My youth?"

Geppetto just points his thumb towards the door. "See for yourself."

When Emma opens the back door of the shop, she finds Henry and Killian both holding wooden swords. They don't even seem to notice her at first, entirely focused on the task at hand.

"You want to make sure your legs are steady, aye? It's very easy to lose your footing, see, but - ah, don't lock your legs! It makes it easy for you to topple, which is the last thing you want to do," Killian advises, instructing Henry carefully. He steadies the wooden sword in Henry's hand with his prosthetic. "And your grip on your sword should be very firm."

Henry frowns. "When will we get into the actual fighting part?"

"When you're ready. First, you have to be able to hold a stance, aye? Parries and advances and all the rest are much more complicated, you don't want to bite off more than you can chew," Killian tells him. His words are gentle, his smile down at him soft. His eyes go over Henry's shoulder to spot Emma and his face lights up.

"Welcome back, love. Henry asked for a bit of sword instruction. Saved you an extra," Killian grins, tossing a wooden sword her way. Emma catches it just in time, a little dazed. She wasn't expecting to come back to this, but the smile on her face shows how much she doesn't mind it. As frustrating as her conversation with Reul was, it's nice to come back to this.

Henry turns around to face her and beams before racing towards her. His arms are around her waist in an instant, his sword falling in the dirt. Emma has to move her arm away quickly before he accidentally catches himself on the sword she's holding, wooden or not.

"Hey, kid," she greets, keeping her sword facing down as she embraces him. "It's nice to see you, too. Killian is teaching you how to swordfight, huh?"

Emma meets Killian's eyes and her grin widens.

"I was hoping maybe you could teach me, too?" Henry asks, looking up at her optimistically.

Emma shrugs, stepping back from the hug. "Sure, but Killian is a lot better at the technical stuff than I am. I know the basics and go from there, but he has all sorts of fancy moves up his sleeve - footwork and spins and all of that."

"Our fighting styles are a bit different," Killian acknowledges, setting down his own wooden sword. "Emma is much more instinct, but it works well for her. You have a lot worth teaching, Swan."

"You mean I'm more improvising and hoping for the best and you're a practiced expert?" Emma says, her voice matter of fact. She doesn't feel insulted, it's just fact. They manage largely because of the complete lack of training of Regina's guards who can barely hold a sword. The queen has always been sloppy, relying on large numbers and brute force rather than actual military tactics. Training was usually abandoned, from what she can tell, in favor of just sticking men with swords out in places she tells them to be.

"Your improvisation has saved our lives countless times," Killian points out. "Remember when that guard disarmed you and you punched him in the helmet so hard he fell unconscious?"

"My hand was bruised for days. And you would never get disarmed in the first place," Emma counters, setting her hands on Henry's shoulders.

"Both sound cool," Henry declares, looking between the two of them.

"It is good to learn both methods," Killian says, looking pointedly at Emma. "I have centuries of experience, sure, but I've learned a lot fighting with Emma. Improvisation is something you need in a fight, thinking outside the rules isn't cheating if it saves your life."

"We aren't teaching him with actual swords anytime soon, right?"

"Gods, no," Killian answers immediately. "Boy just got sliced with one, it's hardly time to put one in his hands. Not until he's fifteen or sixteen, at least."

Killian is thinking awfully long term, she notes. Emma looks down at Henry again, who seems to be bouncing on the soles of his feet. He's excited - you don't have to be a puzzle solver to figure that one out - and the mood is nearly infectious just looking at him. Henry went from a kid left out on the street to die without anyone who gave a damn to someone with a place to sleep, food to eat, and people looking out for him.

And they're going to have to leave soon.

"Sixteen," Emma declares, in spite of her better judgement. She hates making promises she can't keep, but even if they don't stay there has to be a way they can come back to give him some sort of lessons. Geppetto - as good of an instructor as he was for her - won't exactly be aged for trying to teach teenagers how to fight. If there's any skill that she and Killian have, it's fighting.

It's the least they can do to pass that on, she supposes.

"No actual swords until sixteen," she tells them, her voice determined. "You've already had to grow up way too fast, no point in speeding it up even more."

"Okay," Henry concedes with a sigh. "But we can still do the wooden swords, right?"

"Those are totally fine, so long as it's with someone who knows what they're doing," Emma says. "We should probably put these up for now, though. I'm hungry, I don't know about you."

"Me too," Henry admits.

"Hey, Henry!" Geppetto calls from the inside. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in helping me fix lunch, would you?"

And with that, he's racing back inside.

Killian chuckles, bending down to retrieve Henry's abandoned wooden sword. "Ah, the things we do for our children."

Emma is still staring at the door Henry just went through, her thoughts clouded. Killian clears his throat, making her direct her sight back to him.

"Right, sorry, got my head stuck in the clouds. What's up?"

"Find out anything interesting from your visit?" Killian asks, walking up to her until they're toe to toe.

"Absolutely nothing," Emma answers, looking down at her shoes in somber disappointment. "Unless you count _'appears when you need him'_ as vital information. I kind of think she was just screwing with me."

Killian is grimacing when she meets his eyes again. "That's unfortunate."

"Yeah, it is. But oh well. We go back to our grand quest for the latest piece of information," Emma says, her eyes going back to the door. "Life goes on."

"But it's not just your encounter that has you distracted, is it?"

Killian reads her too easily, sometimes.

"I don't want to leave him," Emma reveals, her words rushed and her voice thick. "It's stupid, but-"

"It's not stupid," he replies immediately. "Not stupid at all. I share those feelings, truthfully."

"He's a good kid. A nice kid, a smart kid - he deserves better than an environment that's unstable and life or death all the time. Henry has had enough of that," Emma sighs. Her fingers tighten on the wooden sword in her hand, her heart feeling heavy. "I just...our parents left us. He may not be ourkid, but I feel so wrong leaving him."

He doesn't reply at first. Killian just takes a step forward, enveloping her in his arms. She leans into him with a ragged exhale, dropping the mock sword so her hands can slide up his back.

"What if we stayed for a little while?" he suggests, voice intentionally light. "Just for a little while - it's not as if we have anything else to do rather than wander aimlessly, aye?"

"She could rip apart the village if she knew we were here," Emma replies, smothering the hope of staying before she can get too attached to it. She cranes her head up so she can look at him. "I'll never forgive myself if something happens to him because we stayed."

"The guards don't even know what we look like," Killian points out. "Not the ones left alive, anyway. Strangers in a new village look far more suspicious than blending in here. It could allow this Merlin fellow to find us as well, staying in one place."

"Some of them do - remember when I posed as one?" Emma counters. "I don't know if I believe all the guards here have been hoodwinked about the Savior thing, either. And I don't like just sitting around waiting for some mysterious wizard to show up. Reul wasn't helpful in the least with the Merlin information."

She wants him to convince her they'd be doing the right thing by leaving. He can't, not any more than she can convince herself.

"Emma," Killian exhales, his eyes fixed on hers and his arms tightening around her waist. "If we can stay, let's stay. Neither of us want to leave him. There's no point in hurting ourselves when we don't have to - Henry is…"

"Special," Emma finishes softly. "Henry is special. He's too much like us, that's why it's so hard to leave."

"Aye," Killian agrees. "He's special."

Emma presses her lips together, bending her head down until her cheek rests against his shoulder. He pulls her slightly closer, burying his face in her hair. "Maybe it wouldn't hurt to stay just for a little while."

She can feel his answering nod in this slide of his nose along her head. "Just for a little while."

-/-

The rest of the day goes by just fine. Right before they turn in for the night, things couldn't be calmer. Emma and Killian are feeling more relaxed after their decision to stick around, Henry is over the moon about more potential sword fighting lessons, and Geppetto openly welcomes the company. They're all standing around talking amongst themselves after dinner, at ease for the first time in what seems like forever.

"Thank you, again, for letting us stay here," Emma tells Geppetto. "Especially for taking in Henry."

"It's no trouble at all. You know," Geppetto says, wiping his hands off in the basin and leaning against the cabinet. "It's fitting, in a way, to have you all stay here now. Killian, of course, was working downstairs before. And I was meant to take you in before, so -"

He freezes, as if he's let something out he shouldn't have.

Emma narrows her eyes. "What do you mean, you were supposed to take me in?"

Geppetto blanches, a look of panic crossing his face. She suddenly feels uncomfortable, her hands shaking slightly, as she realizes the implication of what he's just said. His reaction doesn't seem positive.

Killian, too, tenses. He puts hand and prosthetic on Henry's shoulders, frowning and glancing between the two of them. Henry just seems confused by the entire exchange, looking up at Killian as if to ask for answers. Killian just stares at the two of them.

"I think it may be time for you to get to bed, lad," Killian says softly. Henry frowns, but starts walking in the direction of his bedroom without too much of a fight. Emma gives Killian a grateful look - glad that Henry won't have to see this exchange, if it goes in a direction she fears it will - and waits until the door closes behind them before turning back to Geppetto.

"Explain," Emma says shortly.

Geppetto swallows. "Well, I'm afraid I don't know where to begin. I was friends with your parents before you were born, see. They were worried what Regina would do to you - she spoke of a curse for a little while, one that didn't come to fruition. Your parents were insistent on keeping you, at first. Then the castle was attacked. They were able to fend off Regina's advances, but feared the day that they wouldn't be able to."

"I'm not seeing the connection," Emma crosses her arms. "Aside from the fact that you've apparently known I was the Savior for as long as you've known me and didn't even say a word."

"I told them I could take you in," Geppetto admits. "Me and my boy, we were living alone at the time. In this village, nice and insulated. The queen would have to search far and wide to find you in the home of a humble carpenter, I was sure and I almost did it as the attacks became more and more frequent."

Emma stiffens. "What happened?"

"The castle was under siege when my son tried taking you back here. He was so close - just a village over - when guards found him. He panicked, left you the first place he could. We looked for you, I swear we did, but by the time we got to the road you were gone," Geppetto sighs.

"Because you left an eight year old with the task of doing it!" Emma nearly yells, surprising herself with her own anger. She lowers her voice, considering Henry in the other room. "I _trusted_ you. I trusted you and you lied to me about something like this. You and Ingrid were the only childhood I ever really had. You taught me how to use a sword, watched me when I was twelve when Ingrid had to leave to help someone - and _you_ were the reason I was left on the street."

The anger gives way to exhaustion, the draining feeling of disappointment taking hold instead of blood boiling fury.

"All this time, I felt so conflicted about my parents because they left me behind, alone. I felt so angry with them, even after all these years and all that I know now. And they didn't leave me alone - you did. And you spent all the time I've known you not saying a word about it."

"What was I meant to tell you?" Geppetto asks, his expression anguished. "That my son failed to deliver you here?"

"Maybe it would have been nice to know that my parents didn't leave me on the street intentionally," Emma fires back. "Do you know how long I spent thinking that they just left me on the road? That the didn't care enough to even get me into shelter?"

A sob escapes her throat. Geppetto looks incredibly guilty and a twisted part of her is satisfied at that.

"You lied to me," Emma says, her voice low and unmistakably hurt. "For my entire life, you lied to me."

Geppetto sighs heavily, his hand coming up to scrub his face. "I didn't mean for my son to have that responsibility. It was the last thing I wanted. But he was at the castle when I wasn't and Regina was already attacking the palace. Your parents gave you to the Blue Fairy to get you somewhere safe and she told my son that your best chance was if he brought you here. My son took you and ran home in a moment of bravery. And he left you in a moment of cowardice."

"You could have told me."

"You weren't meant to know of your true destiny until it was time, I was told. Otherwise you'd be barreling headfirst into a fight you weren't ready for."

"And what am I doing now?" Emma asks, incredulous. "I clearly have no idea what I'm doing. If I'd known what the hell was going on for longer, maybe I could have actually prepared myself."

"You can do this," Geppetto reassures her immediately, completely missing the point. "You can understand the full impact of who you are, now. You'll find this wizard you've been seeking and you'll be able to do this. I don't know if that would've been the case if you found out any sooner - you certainly wouldn't have Killian at your side."

He's reassuring himself, not her. His guilt is assuaged if he feels like he's done the right thing by lying to her. By keeping her identity from her all this time, by making her think she was unloved for most of her life. Good intentions or not, it's what he did.

"That should have been _my_ decision to make." Emma grits out. "Not yours."

"It was what the Blue Fairy told me to do," Geppetto exhales, sounding helpless.

It's similar to what Red told her. Except Red didn't lie to Emma since she was fourteen. Emma has known him ever since she and Ingrid moved into his village. She wonders when he figured out who she really was, if it took him a little while to piece it together or if he knew the minute he heard her name. Emma wants to thump her own head against a wall in frustration. "And what did common sense tell you to do? Lie to me for half of my life?"

Geppetto visibly wilts.

-/-

"What do you think they're talking about?" Henry asks Killian as he tucks him into bed.

The conversation between Geppetto and Emma is not one he envisions being pleasant, that much he gathered. Killian exhales rather than saying as much, sitting beside Henry on the bed. "Well, I imagine they've a lot of catching up to do."

"Angry catching up?"

"They have different moods in catching up," Killian defends. "There's happy catching up, sad catching up, angry catching up...it all varies."

Henry gives him a skeptical look. "Why is she mad?"

Killian sighs. "It's her story to tell, I'm afraid."

He hears a gentle tapping on the door and turns around to face the source, finding a tear stricken Emma with her knuckles to the wood.

"Hey," she greets, voice hoarse. "Sorry about that. Just wanted to make sure Henry didn't need anything."

Killian eyes her with concern. "You alright, love?"

Emma shrugs. "It's a lot to explain."

"Why are you sad?" Henry asks, taking the much more direct route.

"Just overwhelmed, I'll explain it to you one day," Emma promises, sitting on the other side of Henry's bed. "Can I do anything for you, kiddo?"

Emma is feeling fragile, that much he can tell. Whatever happened between her and Geppetto, it left her feeling raw. There's obviously something about her childhood that he must have kept from her. The bit about being meant to look after her beforehand has him puzzled over the nature of their history. He wonders if the king and queen perhaps left a child to a man not ready to take on the responsibility of one yet. He wonders about the boy who once lived in this room.

The Geppetto he knows now would never intentionally leave a child, Killian knows. He couldn't even leave a grown man to fend for himself and helped him without a second thought.

Then again, that's the Geppetto he knows _now_.

"I'm okay," Henry reassures her.

"Are you sure?" she asks, her voice breaking. "There's not anything...anything you want for me to do? Us to do?"

Henry, naturally, answers in the negative. Emma's eyes are watery when she squeezes Henry's hand. Killian tries to meet her eyes, to comfort her in any way he can, but she's fixated on the boy between them.

-/-

It's not until they're alone in their room that he broaches the subject of the conversation that left her shaken.

"Was he the one that left you on the road?" Killian asks cautiously, closing the door behind him. "Because - as kind as the man has been to us lately - I can certainly understand if you'd rather try putting Henry elsewhere-"

"No," Emma shakes her head, resigned. "No, it wasn't his fault. He didn't leave me anywhere. I just wish he told me about what happened sooner, is all."

She sits down on the bed looking haunted, her hands behind her neck and her eyes staring at nothing in particular. Killian settles in beside her without questioning it, patiently waiting until she's ready to talk.

"You always see me when I'm like this," Emma says instead. "Working through some emotional trauma or another - ever get sick of it?"

His lips twitch. "Never. You've seen me at my vulnerable points, helped me through them when I was feeling hurt. It's nothing short of an honor to try and do the same for you in return."

Her answering smile is weak, but there all the same. Emma holds out her hand. Killian takes it. She explains everything - from when she first met Geppetto when he was sick to the argument they just had. Killian listens to every word.

-/-

Emma is the first to wake up the next morning. She walks into the kitchen on her tiptoes, but the awkward confrontation she was avoiding is already seated at the table. Drinking tea, from the looks of it.

"Did you get any sleep?" Emma asks cautiously.

Geppetto shrugs. "Some."

There's an awkward beat of silence between the two of them.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," Emma apologizes, her voice quiet. "You didn't deserve that."

"I did," Geppetto acknowledges, a sad smile on his lips. "You were right. I had no right to lie to you like that, especially given all you've already been through. When I met you again, I was so grateful that you were alright. But, of course, Pinocchio was gone by the time we met. I couldn't protect him. And I thought that by shielding you from your true identity for that much longer - until it was time - that I could protect you in a way I couldn't him."

There's a long pause between the two of them.

Emma sits next to him, her words cautious. "You never did tell me what happened to your son."

Geppetto exhales raggedly, his eyes going to the floor. "Well, he had a condition, see. Pinocchio was...well, Pinocchio was a puppet."

Emma raises her eyebrows. "A puppet?"

He gives her a sad smile. "You can thank the Blue Fairy and a cricket for that, though gods know I haven't seen Jiminy in ages. The conditions were that he could remain a boy so long as he was selfless, brave, and true. His leaving you behind - as understandable as it was for a child in his position facing a terrible threat - was none of the above. He'd have bouts where he'd be in incredible pain until he was nearly a man - usually when he did something that was ill advised."

"All kids do things that are ill-advised," Emma points out. "It's called being a kid."

"Believe me, I know. The Blue Fairy said her conditions were clear. I didn't know what to do. He thought he'd have a better chance in the Land Without Magic, that he'd be safe. So, I was able to procure enchanted wood and make a wardrobe that would allow him to pass through there," Geppetto explains, his voice carrying a deep sadness. "I wanted to go with him, but the wardrobe would only take one. I tried convincing him that there had to be another way, but he wouldn't budge. I left him all alone in a strange world."

"You gave him his best chance," Emma says. "I'm sure wherever he is that he's grateful for that."

"You said yourself that you were angry with your parents for leaving you behind," Geppetto counters. His eyes are red, his lower lip trembling. "I can't imagine that Pinocchio isn't angry with me."

"Geppetto, you saved his life. You can't tell me that he's not grateful for that. And yeah, I had my own," Emma sighs, "bitterness and I still have a lot of questions. But my parents did what they did because they love me. Just as you did for your son," her eyes start to water again. "And just like you did for me."

Geppetto pauses, his expression still somber. "There's something you should see."

Emma's forehead wrinkles in confusion. "What?"

He walks to a nearby counter, pulling parchment from it. "These were posted yesterday. I was going to tell you about it, but then...well, I was distracted by our conversation."

Geppetto hands the flyers over to her.

Her heart sinks down to her stomach.

"We're going to have to leave," Emma's says, her voice breaking. She's used to the price on their heads being posted - and growing larger every time - but there's a new aspect to this. This time, they were able to get illustrations. It's not as if either of them sat for a painting, but, apparently the queen found a new artist who was able to do the job just fine.

The artist did well enough that Killian and Emma would be recognizable to any guard or person looking to make a fortune.

"I know," Geppetto replies sadly.

"As soon as possible," she continues, trying to keep her voice level.

They just stay in silence for a moment. Emma is silently absorbing the information. Geppetto is waiting for another reaction. She pictures what her parents reactions could have been when they had to give her up. Not wanting her to leave, wanting more than anything for her to stay, but having to give her up anyway. For a better chance, a better shot at her being safe.

Geppetto gives up the wait after about five minutes.

"I have to get to the forge," he frowns, looking at his watch. "Tell Killian and Henry good morning for me, will you?"

"I will," Emma replies, voice quiet and disconnected. Her eyes are still fixed on the bounty on the Savior. She always thought it'd only be a matter of time before Regina found an illustrator and put faces to names. Regina, true to form, just has the worst timing imaginable. She sits still, staring at it until the letters blur together and she hears footsteps on the stairs.

She looks up to where Killian is walking towards her, muffling a yawn. He presses a kiss to her head as he passes by her, picking up a piece of fruit from the table. "Good morning, love."

"Good morning. Geppetto found these," Emma tells him, gesturing to the flyers anxiously. She doesn't waste any time at all cutting to the chase. There's no point. She curls her arms around her knees.

Killian just stares at it for a moment, carefully analyzing it. His face pinches. "Is my nose _truly_ that big?"

Emma would laugh if it were any other set of circumstances. "Seriously? Our faces are plastered everywhere and you're worried about the size of your nose?"

Killian raises his eyebrows. "Should I be worried about the size of anything else?"

Emma snorts, shaking her head. The light mood fades, though, the longer she stares at the flyer. Their names, their faces, and the price on their heads laid out in elegant handwriting. People would be fools not to take the offer up. The longer they stay here, the harder this is going to be.

"You know what this means, right?" Emma asks, her tone becoming much more serious.

Killian's face falls, letting the flyer drop back on the table. He doesn't say anything at first, just silently holds out his hand for her to take. She interlocks their fingers and he pulls her to stand and wraps his arms around her middle. She leans against him, tears pricking behind her eyelids. She's only known Henry for a few days, she shouldn't feel responsible for him - but she knows herself. She knows what it's like to be left behind, knows the scars it can leave and the scars it must have already left on him.

They can't stay here, not when Regina is still keen on finding herself a savior to catch and a pirate to repay for betraying her. They can't run with him for the very same reason. Killian pulls back to meet her eyes and she knows that he knows it, too, if the quiet disappointment in them is any indication.

"I don't want to leave," Emma says, her hands on his arms.

"But we have to," he says, his voice subdued and resigned. He bends his head down to rest his forehead against hers.

"But we have to," she repeats, nodding sadly, Emma doesn't have to explain, they both know they can't put Henry at risk. Now that the guards will know their faces, they'll be walking targets. It'd be all too easy for Henry or Geppetto to get caught in the crossfire.

"We should leave as soon as possible. The less time we're putting them in danger, the better."

"I know," Emma says. "I know. But that doesn't make it much easier."

"No," Killian agrees. "It doesn't."

She moves her arms under his, burying her face in his neck. He slides his hand and wrist to her back, lips against her temple. They just stay there for a few moments, holding each other and steeling themselves for a goodbye.

-/-

Killian has had his share of goodbyes over the course of his life.

For a while, all of his life was a series of goodbyes. His parents, Liam, Milah, the list went on...most of those he cared about were long dead. Emma was a change for him, the woman that showed him what it felt like to feel hope again. As much as the worry of losing her terrorized him at times, Killian can't imagine ever having to say goodbye to her. All of that considered, it's rather unexpected that he's this torn up about saying goodbye to a child they just met.

But Emma shares his feelings, at least. It stings because they know the sting of being left behind all too well. Henry is friendly and familiar - a child that seems perfectly in tune to both of them. They knew they'd have to leave him behind from the moment they met him, of course, but it's still an arduous prospect to face. For a just a few hours, they'd fooled themselves into thinking they could stay with him. And in just a few hours, the illusion was shattered. The thought of giving this child some semblance of a home that they spent so long without, that Henry spent so long without, was something they both desperately wanted.

Now, it's something they can't have. Not while they're here, anyway.

It's not as if they could have stayed for long even without the wanted posters. Geppetto was more fit for the task of taking care of Henry, in all likelihood, but it still was something that he - much to his surprise - wanted to give. He'd never envisioned himself as the paternal sort, not after all that had happened between him and his own father, but Henry has an infectious sort of affection about him.

Emma pulls back from his embrace, her eyes watery as she looks at him. He's sure his are a mirror. She gives him a weak smile before pulling his hand in hers, leading the way up the stairs. Henry is still sound asleep in his bed when they enter his room.

Emma taps on the door and he wakes up nearly immediately.

"Morning," Henry greets, his voice slurred with sleep. "Why are you guys both here like this? You look...kinda down. Is this about last night?"

"We just wanted a chance to talk," Killian explains gently. He takes a seat at one side of Henry's bed, Emma the other.

"We both really wanted to stay around for longer," Emma explains, her voice hesitant. "But, um, it would be really dangerous if we did. The guards are getting smarter and the last thing we need to be doing is putting you in any more danger."

"And if there's anything you need from us before we go, just say the word and it's done, lad."

"So, you're leaving," Henry replies, trying to hide how heartbroken he sounds. He fails.

"For now," Killian answers quietly, catching even Emma by surprise. He looks to her for approval, as the words fell out of his mouth before he could think about them, and she only nods. He takes a deep breath before continuing. "We're only leaving for now."

"We will never let anything happen to you again," Emma tells Henry, her voice low. She takes ahold of Henry's small hands in hers, crouching down so that they're eye-level. "I promise you."

Henry still looks desolate. "What if you can't come back?"

"We'll find a way," Emma promises him easily. "We'll always find a way, alright?"

"Aye," he nods. "If you truly need us, we'll never be too far."

Killian hopes that this will be enough.


	20. Sacrifice

**A/N: Sorry this is a little later than usual! I was busy for a lot of the day, I finished this last night, had to proofread - it was a whole deal. But, it's Wednesday and it's up! There was a lot of Close Your Eyes from the BtVS soundtrack playing while I was writing this...do with that what you will. It's getting a little more intense and this installment is nearing its end. I just want to take a moment to say, wholeheartedly, thank you all so much for your love and feedback. This story would not exist without it.**

 **And, of course, I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter.**

-/-

They don't make it to the next village over before guards are on their trail. It looks like a big group of them, too, well outside their normal odds. And well beyond what they'd usually be willing to risk. Over a dozen guards is about three times their usual fight. The most they've ever faced was eight.

"We could run," Killian suggests as soon as he catches sight of them in the distance. "I don't like our chances, those kind of numbers are risky."

Emma frowns. "It looks like they have horses. I don't see us getting very far."

She looks around the clearing for any other solution. There isn't a tree in sight to hide in, just more flat land. That significantly complicates things. Emma is really wishing they thought to take the horses with them when they left, but given that their faces are plastered everywhere they thought it was too dangerous. Still, the situation they're in right now could be even more dangerous.

"I'd usually suggest you try turning into a blushing damsel and fainting or something of the like to get them off their guard, but they know what we look like now," Killian says with a grimace. "Complicates things quite a bit, that does. And it's not as if you have a guard's armor to hide behind."

She thinks about it for a minute, narrowing her eyes. "Maybe we'd be able to use that to our advantage - them knowing what we look like."

"What do you mean?"

"They might outnumber us, but we should be able to outsmart them," Emma explains, looking off to where the guards are approaching. "Do you trust me?"

"Always," he replies without hesitation. "What do you have in mind, love?"

-/-

Emma slumps to the ground, groaning in pain. Her head lulls to its side, appearing to all the world as if she's unconscious as the sound of clapping hooves gets closer and closer to where she's lying. The horses skid to a stop and its riders dismount. It's amazing what senses other than sight can detect - the sound of breaths and the thumping of the earth under her body.

She feels cool metal at her neck, the tip of a sword barely grazing her. There's another one.

"Well, would you look at that. I seem to have caught myself a Swan."

"What the hell," an unfamiliar voice says, incredulous. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm finishing the job. Won't kill her, but I want to make sure she's out before I take her where she belongs - in the dungeons of the queen's castle."

Emma can hear a sword drawing with a flourish. "We should be finishing you. You're Captain Hook - you've been helping the Savior all this time. Now you're expecting us to believe you're on the side of the queen?"

"The queen has been planning this for a long time," Hook says, chuckling. "You can't merely catch the Savior by force - she'll only fight or escape, legend has told us that's what she does. I've witnessed it. I'm sure you all have lost fellow soldiers because of it. If you want to best the Savior, you have to trick her. What better way of doing that than pretending to be madly in love with her? You can't get her much more vulnerable than that."

"Then why wait so long to get her to the queen?" another guard asks. "You've had all this time."

"Well, it was what the queen wanted. I was collecting information about her this entire time and reporting back to Regina. I am her best assassin, after all, and this will be no exception. We planned every bit of this. We made it look as if we had a falling out so I'd be nice and trustworthy for the Savior, here, allowing me to use my charms on her. I'd find out her weaknesses, her goals, what makes her tick…" he hums thoughtfully. "And I have. Regina has been taking note of every single little detail, preparing for what's to come."

"That still doesn't answer his question," someone else chimes in. "Why now?"

Hook sighs. "After what happened in Arendelle, the queen made clear her patience was wearing thin. She told me to take the Savior in when her guard was down. I tried when she was asleep days ago, see, but she woke up and ran as soon as she noticed something was amiss. A fault in my acting, I'll admit. I just caught up with her in the forest, knocked her out so I could carry her in hassle-free, and was delighted to see you lot show up to help. I guessed Regina must have sent the message."

"We haven't received any message."

"So I gathered. But I suppose it's best if as few people know of the plans of the queen and I as possible. If word got around, that could be unfortunate indeed for our plans. Regina was being shrewd, as only she can be. Now that I have the Savior in my grasp, however, it should be no matter at all," she can hear him sheath his sword back into his belt. "I'm ready when you all are, I'm sure the queen will reward you handsomely."

"Why kill us, then?" a guard asks gruffly, ignoring Hook's offer. "There have been many guards killed in battle with Captain Hook. Why?"

"Oh, as if letting you lot kill the Savior would do me much good at all when I've been trying to convince her to trust me so I could hand her over," Killian retorts sarcastically. "Thickheaded, you are. No wonder Regina left the dirty work to me."

"And you've been seducing the Savior...for the queen?" the same guard asks doubtfully. "And fighting your own?"

"It lets her guard down. Women will believe anything they want to when they're head over heels," Hook says blithely. A part of her gut twists at the words, though she knows that he doesn't mean them for a second. It's all part of the act they agreed on. She trusts him with her life, easily, and this could be their best option out. Killian pretends to be on board with taking her in. The guards let their guards - pun not intended - down. The second the pack thins, they go running. It's not the most complex of plans, but it was all on a little short notice.

Killian, as it turns out, is quite the storyteller. She tries not to read too much into that.

In a second, he's hoisting her up over his shoulder as if she's a load he's eager to carry back to the queen. Emma does her best not to respond, trying to appear as if she's completely unconscious. Her nose is pressed up against his back and it's definitely an awkward position to hang in. "So, can we take the Savior back to the queen? I'm sure she'll reward you handsomely, but it'd be easier if I had a lift so I didn't have to carry her all the way back to the bloody palace."

There's a beat of silence among the guards. Emma can almost see them looking amongst themselves, deciding whether or not to believe him.

"We don't believe you," a guard says, voice short.

Well, that answers that.

Killian sighs, exasperated. "Very well, then."

Killian drops her back on her feet in one instant and runs a guard through the next. Emma regains her senses quickly, drawing her sword and getting to work. She's used to fighting, used to fighting with guards especially.

These guards, though, seem a little more astute. Not just mentally, but in their tactics. She manages to dispatch the guard closest to her in no time, spinning out of the path of his sword just in time.

In the next instant, a guard pins her to a tree, his sword locked with hers and a victorious expression on his face. Emma grunts, bending forward and making him bend with her. Once his head is down far enough, she kicks him in the face. He drops his sword and she takes the opportunity when she sees it, spinning around to take care of the next guard as well while he's too unprepared to react quickly enough.

If improvisation was what she was good at, she's going to need to be doing a hell of a lot of improvising to compensate for what skills they could have over her. And what numbers they definitely have over her. The queen must have stopped bringing her least intelligent bunch after them, these were her best of the best. They're both decent with swords - and decent was enough with this many knights - and not dumb enough to believe Killian's smooth talking.

It's the worst.

Emma loses sight of Killian in the crowd, preoccupied with taking care of her own fight. Every time she manages to knock over one knight, the next one pops up. The odds of this fight aren't in their favor - not by a long shot - so it's all Emma can do just to fight. Maybe a miracle will happen and they'll manage to escape just by pure force of will, but Emma hates gambling based off of force of will alone.

She's really wishing the guards just bought their story and made this all easier.

"Bloody hell," a voice exclaims.

"Killian!" she shouts, panicked. She can't see him in the crowd, can only hear shouting and swords. As much as she tries to focus on just fighting the guy in front of her, it's hard to when she's can feel her stomach turning in worry. "Killian, are you okay?"

"Your magic, love!" he yells back at her, the sound muffled. "Use your magic!"

It is a hell of a tall order. Emma can barely use it for healing, let alone for fighting. It's hard to focus on potential weapons with magic when she's trying her best to field off the people trying to kill her with an ordinary one. "I'm a little too busy to try experimenting right now!"

"Try," Killian wheezes, out of breath. "Just try it, alright?"

That isn't going to be possible. Emma just barely kicks off another guard from trying to spar with her, trying to deal with the ones right in front of her. One wrong move and she's dead. She hears another pained groan that sounds suspiciously like Killian and it feels like a slice to her gut.

And, well, then there's the actual swipe of the sword of her opponent that leaves a cut on her abdomen. She doesn't have to look down to know that it's bleeding. Emma ignores it, with no other choice but to, and keeps fighting until she manages to disarm her attacker. The sword of the man who just sliced her disappears from his hands, but it only takes him a second for another guard to take his place.

There is way too damn many of them.

She tries to concentrate on her magic, but it's a little difficult when she's also trying very hard not to get run through with a sword. Concentration doesn't come easily when she's fighting for her life - the central response from her body is more of _'How can I not get jabbed with a deadly weapon'_ rather than _'Hey, wonky magic, you want to try to do that thing you've never attempted where you try to stop a whole bunch of people from killing you?'_.

"Killian," she calls him again, trying to at least make sure he's still alright. She doesn't want to distract him from the fight, but Emma can't see him and she can hardly hear anything over the clash of swords. There's no reply from him and she flounders, trying his name again before her voice is drowned out by the clatter of metal against metal when she blocks another attack from her assailant.

There's no response the second time. And Emma keeps on playing defensive instead of offensive in this little sparring session with a bunch of men set on killing her, which can only be a bad sign. They're not going to die in a battle with the queen's lackeys, she refuses to let that happen.

But it gets harder with every block and she worries more and more the longer she can't hear Killian's voice.

Her magic isn't happening - maybe if she ever had the help of someone like that Merlin guy, she'd be able to battle _and_ experiment with magic, but currently the two are not going to happen. If there ever was a time where she needed Merlin to show up, as he apparently is meant to do whenever someone needs his magical help, it's now.

That's when the idea comes to her. A last resort.

"Merlin, Merlin, Merlin," Emma chants over and over again, her desperation making her willing to resort to anything. If he's meant to be a magical good-guy who can help her out when she needs it, she's going to need that help quick. No more waiting around and sitting on her hands - she needs this guy here _now_. The guard she's fighting with looks at her like she's crazy, still meeting her sword for sword, but Emma doesn't care. If it caught him off guard, all the better.

Suddenly, Emma stops getting swords jabbed in her direction. She even sweeps hers towards her latest attacker - expecting resistance and a new move from him and getting nothing but air. Emma falls flat on the ground with the force of the swing and almost panics at what could be her demise. Falling during a swordfight isn't good, especially with odds like this.

But she doesn't get any more swords pointed at her. Instead, a hand appears outstretched in front of her face. She looks up, her hands planted on the ground, and sees a cloaked figure standing over her.

"Sorry about that. Need a hand?" the figure says, not unkindly.

Emma takes it, dazed, and gets back up on her feet. She looks around at the clearing. Everyone is frozen in place. Even Killian is fixed at the spot he was fighting at, thankfully looking intact. It's not hard to deduce who the stranger in front of her is. The chanting was a last ditch effort, she wasn't expecting it to actually _work_. Emma turns back to face the stranger, gaping.

He tugs down his hood, revealing a youthful, handsome face - a stark contrast to the old man with a long white beard she was expecting from legend. The stranger grins widely at her. "Name's Merlin. I understand you're in need of assistance?"

Emma laughs breathlessly. "You could definitely say that."

-/-

"So, you're the Savior?" Merlin prompts, paying no mind to the people frozen around them. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"Yeah, that's -" Emma stands straighter and winces, hand coming to the cut at her side. It's shallow, she can tell, but it hurts all the same. "That's me."

Merlin frowns, taking in the injury. With a wave of his hand, it's gone.

"Wish it was that easy when I did it," Emma observes, frowning and pressing her hand over the healed skin.

"Gets easier with practice," he assures her. "Should we get going, then?"

Emma looks to where Killian is still frozen, sword raised and locked with a guard's. "As grateful as I am for you freezing the people trying to kill us, Killian is still," she points at the pirate, "stuck. He's my partner in this, I'm not keen on leaving him behind."

"Oh," Merlin nods in realization. "Captain Hook, of course."

"Yeah," Emma replies, rocking back on her heels a little awkwardly. "So if you could just, I don't know, try to unfreeze him so we could go on our merry way, that'd be great."

"You want to unfreeze him?" Merlin asks. "Well, then, do it yourself."

Emma looks at him skeptically. "Uh, that's a little outside my skillset. Kind of why I need the help. That, and the whole mortal peril thing, but my magic isn't exactly the most reliable. And I've never done the," she gestures to where everyone is stuck in place, "unfreezing thing."

"If you've never done it, how do you know you can't?" Merlin replies, not unkindly. "Just try it. Make sure it's him you're allowing to move and not a guard, however, unless you'd like this to get a bit messy."

That warning isn't helping with the self confidence.

"So, what do I do?"

"What feels right," Merlin supplies, unhelpfully. "Magic is something you have to feel - varies from person to person. Just focus on allowing him to move and you should be able to do it."

That's about the vaguest advice she's ever gotten. Emma grimaces, but walks slowly up to where Killian is until she's right beside him. She feels his eyes on her and gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile. The closer she is, the easier it should be. At least, that's her reasoning. Emma carefully takes the sword out of the hands of Killian's apparent opponent, wincing as the man's grip is a little difficult to loosen. She doesn't break any fingers or anything, but it's a juggling act.

"Just in case," she supplies, not sure if she's talking to Merlin, Killian, or herself. It's probably all three. "If I accidentally unfreeze the other guy, I want to make sure you don't get skewered."

Killian blinks.

This is definitely weird.

"Uh, move?" Emma tries, hand moving to Killian's shoulder.

She swears she sees Killian roll his eyes. Those must be mobile, at least.

"I think you'll need to do a bit more than that," Merlin advises from behind her. "There's magic in your fingertips. Can you feel it?"

Emma squeezes her eyes shut. There's a little bit of spark, some friction in her palms. She can feel it, just simmering underneath. She's been so used to the feeling over the years that it's hard to recognize at first as something different, as something that isn't normal.

She focuses on the sensation, her other hand pressing against Killian as well. Emma keeps her eyes closed, brow furrowing in concentration. Emma hears something drop to the ground and her eyes fly open in surprise, before she feels two warm arms around her. She instinctively leans into them, her arms wrapping around Killian's neck with an incredulous laugh.

"Knew you could do it, Swan," Killian tells her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. He leans back to look at her with a fond smile. "Being frozen in place is the oddest feeling, though, I'll admit that. My muscles feel a bit stiff and it's only been minutes."

"Sorry about that," Merlin says, approaching the two of them. "It would have faded in time, but...well, of course the spell on the guards would have faded in time as well and that'd be quite the messy situation."

"And you're Merlin," Killian deduces, though he must have heard every word of their conversation. The guards are hearing all of this, too, now that she thinks about it. "Pleasure to finally meet you."

"You as well," Merlin grins, leaning forward to shake his hand as Killian slips out of Emma's arms. "I've heard nothing but good things about the both of you. That being said - we should get going in we don't want this lot," he motions to the guards, "to wake up and start swinging. It should last for a few hours, but I don't suppose they need to eavesdrop."

Merlin seems to consider his own words for a moment, lips pursed in concentration as he waves his hand over the group of them. "And now they won't remember a thing, anyways. Let's go."

They leave the guards frozen. It doesn't seem right to run them through when they're defenseless even if Emma is sure they'd do it to her in a heartbeat.

-/-

They make it to a few acres away from the guards - a reasonable distance, Merlin assures them, especially since he's managed to cloak their makeshift camp - before they decide to get down to business. Emma and Killian are sitting on a fallen log, answering Merlin's various questions as he paces in front of them and asking their own. Merlin isn't exactly a fairy godfather, but he apparently takes training light magic users very seriously.

And the Savior, as it turns out, is meant to be the most powerful light magic wielder in all the realms. Even more powerful than Merlin himself.

The Savior, who had to try repeatedly to float a damn feather the other day.

"Here's the thing," Emma starts, grimacing as she clasps her hands together. "Are we sure that the whole - most powerful magic user or whatever stuff isn't just...legend? There are things bound to get exaggerated or lost in translation."

"It's straight from the Book of Records," Merlin assures her. "It's never wrong."

"There's always a first time," Emma suggests weakly.

Killian rubs his hand up and down her back. "Just need a bit of practice, is all. You can't be trained in anything instantly - didn't learn to fight with a sword immediately, did you? And I certainly didn't learn how to sail a ship overnight. It takes practice, love."

Merlin nods in agreement. "He's right. I think you should be able to pick it up in no time, however, with the right sort of guidance."

"Your guidance," Emma supplies.

"That's the idea," he grins. He moves to stand up, walking further away from where she's sitting. "Follow me, would you please."

They both do, right until Merlin stops at a spot he must decide looks good enough for his purposes.

"Attack me," Merlin instructs, smile still intact on his lips as he nods to Emma.

"What?" Emma's eyebrows raise and she gapes at him. "No. I'm not _attacking_ you. What if I accidentally catch you on fire or something?"

"I won't get hurt," he assures her. "Just try it. Sword, fists, magic - whatever you want to use, try it."

Emma looks to Killian as if to say _'this guy has lost his mind'_ , but Killian is only watching the exchange with interest. His chin is propped on his hand, his eyes looking between the two of them like an avid spectator. She sighs, turning back around to face Merlin.

"I am not going to -"

She hears a thud behind her. Killian crumples to the ground, groaning in anguish. Emma immediately rushes to his side, distressed, while Merlin cooly looks on.

"Killian!" she exclaims, hands carefully cupping his face. He cringes, retreating further into himself and worrying her even more. "What's wrong? Killian!"

"My head," he grunts. "Hurts so bloody much, Swan, you have to stop him."

Emma looks at Merlin in fury, her nostrils flaring and her fists clenching as she stands. "Whatever you want me to do, leave him the hell out of it."

"What are you going to do about it?" Merlin goads, an infuriating smile on his lips.

Emma lunges for him, racing until she nearly tackles him to the ground. Maybe if he's winded, he'll have a harder time doing brain melting magic. Merlin ducks out of her grip easily, leaving Emma planted face first into the dirt, and Killian is still moaning in pain. Emma can feel the blood pumping in her veins, the fury coursing through her body. She pulls herself up back to her feet and brings her hand back, pushing it towards Merlin. It's a force that knocks him clear on his ass.

Merlin has the nerve to laugh, giving her a thumbs up of approval. He's entertained by the idea of pissing her off, torturing Killian in the meantime, it seems. Emma scowls, feeling the burning in her fingertips that speaks of more power to come, before Killian's voice breaks her out of her more violent fantasies.

"Relax, love," Killian assures her. "I was just acting. See if that helped motivate you. Merlin suggested it while you were collecting firewood, love."

"Seriously?" Emma asks in disbelief, moving her hands down as she turns to face him in exasperation.

"What?" Merlin asks innocuously, moving to his feet. "It worked. Next time, try the magic first instead of the lunging. More effective, that way. You can swing your fists at Regina all you like, but she'll be able to block that move with her magic without breaking a sweat. Use that exertion on magic."

They try it a few more times, only with Killian offering reassurance at her side instead of feigning pain. It doesn't work as well, at first, but she manages to get the hang of it.

-/-

They take a break to eat lunch, talking amongst themselves about what's next. Killian finds himself liking Merlin, much to his relief. He's not a man who easily warms up to people, but there's an infectious charm about the man that makes him easy to trust. Which is surprising, given that he quite literally appeared out of nowhere all because Emma summoned him.

"So," Emma says from beside Killian, swallowing some manner of beast Merlin cooked up. "Does every magic user get some magical tutor? Or are there people just bullshitting it and failing - like I was."

"Bit of both," Merlin shrugs. "I just take care of light magic, which is exceedingly rare. Even among products of true love, you can't be certain that a child will be magical. It takes a certain kind of odds."

"So, light magic _is_ more powerful than dark magic," Killian says, looking to Merlin for approval.

"Well, there are three different kinds of magic. Dark magic, the sort you'll find Regina and the Dark One using. Then there's the more ordinary magic, the kind people can use to tie their shoes or even to heal. Light magic is the hardest to find - it's what's ingrained in a person to their bones. Dark magic takes years and years of training, light magic - with the right training - should come as naturally as breathing."

"Well," Emma scowls. "There goes me having light magic then. This isn't easy."

"Hence _'with the right training'_ ," Merlin points out. "You're picking up magic a hell of a lot faster than almost any other magic user I know of. See, using magic is a bit like using your muscles. Some have to work for a while to achieve their desired strength. And some already have the muscle, just need to be trained how to use it."

"No one is born with muscles," Killian replies, unable to stop himself.

"Please, do not ruin this metaphor for me," Merlin retorts. "Point is - I should be able to whip you into shape in no time. You're already in shape. You just have to know what to do with it."

Emma bites her lip, considering Merlin's words. "So, the training...you're saying I should be able to beat Regina with it?"

"Well, aside from the light versus dark magic factor, Regina had the Dark One as her teacher," Merlin supplies. Killian stiffens at the mention of him, not even tolerating hearing the bastard invoked. Merlin shoots him an odd look, but continues. "And you have me. I'm older than he is. A bit more training under my belt that I can transfer to you and well, I don't think it'd be presumptuous of me to assume that my methods diverge wildly from his."

"Really?" Killian asks in disbelief. "Older than the Dark One?"

"I don't look thousands of years old any more than you look hundreds, Hook," Merlin shrugs, unconcerned. "I was stuck as a tree until recently after Lancelot and Guinevere defeated Arthu- you know, it's a long story, I won't bore you with the details."

"Wait," Emma interrupts. "You know Lancelot and Guinevere?"

Merlin positively beams, catching them both by surprise. "They're one of the best people I've met in all of these years. Guinevere was married to Arthur, you know, when she met Lancelot. I was tied to Excalibur, the sword kept me ageless but completely subject to Arthur's whims. It was only after Guinevere and Lancelot fought him that I was freed. I owe them both a great deal."

"They're friends of my parents," Emma tells him with a soft smile. "They helped us a lot. I think we owe them our lives, too."

Killian can't help but think of those first nights, before he knew what all of this would come to mean. Then, Emma was just a possible escape route. The grand quest was just defying Regina and avoiding his head on the chopping block. Now, well, he's _still_ avoiding his head on the chopping block and defying Regina. But Emma is a great deal more to him than an escape - more like an end destination. The sort a man would sail through the most treacherous of waters to get to, where he'd cling onto the shores and never leave.

Things change quite a bit just in the span of months, Killian supposes. He slides his arm around Emma's shoulders, the gesture of affection coming so naturally he doesn't even need to think about it.

"They're the sort you want on your side," Merlin says, a grin on his lips. "Just as I'd want to the two of you on our side. What do you say we practice a bit more with your magic, see if you can do a few more of those blowbacks. We'll try more, next, but we should get you used to more of the basics."

"Alright," Emma nods, holding her hands up to prepare herself. "Blowbacks, got it-"

"Whoa!" Merlin widens his eyes, quickly holding up his arms in a defensive gesture. "Give me a moment! And we aren't practicing on me, this time."

Emma wrinkles her nose, looking to Killian. He'd do it, if she asked. If he needed to take a few blows so Emma could reach her full potential, so be it. It's a low price to pay. Not that he thinks she'd do it, even if Merlin told her to, but perhaps she could be convinced.

"Just be a bit gentle-" Killian begins to advise, but Emma has none of it.

"I'm not knocking Killian around," Emma says shortly.

"Wasn't suggesting it," Merlin replies easily. Over his shoulder in the forest, what looks to be a figure made out of straw and clad in clothing is appearing out of a cloud of light smoke.

"A scarecrow?" Emma asks in disbelief, raising her eyebrows. Killian bites back a laugh, eyeing the hastily assembled figure with amusement. It'll be fun, he thinks, to see Emma give the thing a hell of a beating. It beats using him as a punching bag, anyway, though - again - he'd do it if that was what it took.

"Well, you progressed a bit faster than I expected," Merlin supplies. "And I'm still a bit sore from the last time."

Emma raises her eyebrows. "What, it bruise your ego?"

"More like my arse," Merlin replies dryly. Killian chuckles, shaking his head.

"Oh," Emma frowns. "Sorry."

"I told you to attack me and you did," Merlin says, moving to stand. "Can't blame you for that. What, you think I'd say - _'Following instructions? How dare you, Emma Swan!'_ "

"I still didn't mean to-"

"You did. But that's the point of it," Merlin retorts, gesturing back to the scarecrow. "You can hit him as hard as you'd like. Not to worry, the man won't feel a thing. He's not like that scarecrow with a brain back in Oz, who to be fair is a nice man - you know what, I'm getting off topic."

"Just a little," Killian replies wryly. "So - Emma blasts the scarecrow over there down a few times?"

"That's the plan," Merlin nods. "And we can move up from there. There's a lot of raw power in you, Emma. It's been left largely untapped, but it's there. Focus on it, hone in on it. This is part of you, your craft. You just have to feel it and place it in the control of your hands."

Emma seems to take his words in with a nod, looking thoughtfully at the scarecrow in question when she stands on her feet. "So, knock it around a little bit and you'll show me the cooler tricks?"

"Something like that."

-/-

It's something, Killian thinks, to watch her in her element like this. Confident, powerful, determined - he never knew he could feel so much admiration and arousal just by watching a woman knock around a bloody haystack with trousers.

It's after the scarecrow - Regenold, Emma calls it, a bit tongue in cheek - has taken one too many beatings that Merlin decides she's ready for the next challenge.

"So what?" Emma questions, her voice nearly excited. Killian grins, shaking his head. "First magical shoving, then fireballs?"

"Fireballs are messy, lots of collateral damage," Merlin dismisses that idea smoothly and Killian can't help but agree - thinking of possible fires and bad aim. No wonder Regina preferred them as a show of her magic, they were all show and no real power. "What you want is something cleaner, simpler. If you freeze her in place like I did with those guards back there, it could be a more effective tool for you. You don't have to kill her - well, unless you want to, but I'd imagine your parents would rather go through the process of a trial first given their dedication to fairness - but freezing her should do the job just fine."

"How long will she stay frozen?" she asks

"Depends on how powerful you're able to make your magic. That's all on you - along with pushing back hard enough to break any defensive moves she puts up."

"How long if I'm...I don't know," Emma shrugs, "at the maximum on the power limit?"

"Hopefully, long enough for us to figure out how to put her someplace permanent. I have squid ink, somewhere. That should do the job quite nicely, so long as we're able to ensure there's no squid ink for her to escape with in the cell she's trapped in," Merlin explains. "Now, when you freeze me-"

"I'll do it," Killian offers. "That way you can give her instruction during and the like. Won't hurt me, the staying still, will it?"

"No," Merlin shakes his head. "You'll be just fine. You're right, it does work better that way. Emma, are you alright with that?"

Emma frowns, a worried expression on her face. "What if I get him stuck permanently?"

"Oh, you're worried about freezing your boyfriend, but not the man who could be the only one to get you out of a magical mess-"

"You can take care of yourself."

"And I can't?" Killian asks, a tad indignant.

"Magical freezing, remember?" Emma raises her eyebrows.

Killian rolls his eyes. "I'll manage."

"And you'll be able to do it just fine - you've already unfrozen him," Merlin assures her. "Now you just have to worry about the freezing. Killian, would you stand right over there?"

He motions to another patch of the clearing, a good distance away from where he is now. Killian nods, moving in that direction. Merlin is instructing Emma, going on about feeling what she wants to do and envisioning it in her head, and by the time Killian is where he needs to be Emma looks determined to do what she needs to. He feels pride rising in him, a grin twitching at his lips.

"I'm ready whenever you are," he calls.

Killian can see Emma close her eyes in concentration, her fists curling at her sides. Merlin seems to correct her quickly, interrupting her to tell her to open her eyes and focus on Killian if she wants to freeze him and not the entire forest and that no magic will spread if it's locked in her hands.

Emma nods in understanding, taking in the information. Killian widens his stance, preparing himself.

Sure enough, it works. He's first able to tell he's stuck when he tries to swallow and fails. It's a tad gross to think about and a bit terrifying. There's nothing pleasant about not being able to move, but he trusts her. He trusts her like she did him back in that clearing with the guards - when he was treating her so callously for show. It burned in his throat, every word he said, but Emma seemed to be unbothered by it entirely. Regardless, the sensation of being frozen in place seems like the much better deal.

Emma walks towards him carefully - he hears Merlin say something about making sure the freezing works for a little while - and Killian keeps his eyes trained on her. He can move those, even if he can't move a bloody other part of him. But his eyes follow her until they're toe to toe and he can feel her breath against his skin.

She leans up on the balls of her feet, in the same way she does when they kiss. Leveling the playing field, she called it once, and he wishes he could just bend his head down to kiss her now, audience or no. And he's still so, absurdly proud of her and all that she's proven herself to be capable of that he can feel the affection pouring out of him.

"You can move, now," she murmurs, nose brushing against his.

He lets out a sigh of relief and crushes her to him, arms wrapping around her midsection. Killian laughs breathlessly and so does she, her arms tightening their embrace.

Merlin shakes his head in amusement from over Emma's shoulder. "Alright, lovebirds - ready to try again for longer?"

-/-

Merlin _'poof'_ s away for a trip over to a nearby village, citing something about possible spells Emma could try that he swears a fairy has volumes of. They've made a lot of progress over the past few hours. She's managed everything he's thrown at her - pushing people back, freezing people, making the right object appear right where she needs it, making herself appear and disappear at various spots in the clearing. It's a lot at once, an insane amount at once, but Merlin is right. Once she has a little of the training, it's all already there. Emma just had to use it.

Emma and Killian are talking, planning their next move after Emma's training is over - whenever that is - when Merlin returns. She whips her head around to face the arrival, a smile already on her lips. "Hey, we were just talking and maybe we could try the-"

Her face falls when she sees the severe expression on Merlin's face. Killian stiffens beside her.

"What's happened?" Killian asks.

"I've bad news," Merlin explains grimly. "I just came back from the last village over, the one I believe you two just left. Regina is planning to lay siege to it unless she gets what she wants."

"Me," Emma says, heart twisting in her chest. "She wants me. And the village...Henry," Emma says in horror, hand coming up to clasp over her mouth. "Henry is right there, and Geppetto...I'm going to be _sick_. I have to-"

Killian already knows what she's thinking before she says it. "Emma, you can't…"

She doesn't respond, her fingers still pressing against her lips and her eyes glazing. "She'll kill them - you know that. Regina will kill everyone there and burn the whole damn village down."

"Regina took so much from you already, Emma,," Killian pleads with her, moving his hand and hook to frame her face. "Don't let her take your life too."

Emma inhales deeply, face carefully neutral. She won't meet his eyes - can't meet his eyes - and instead focuses on a spot just over his shoulder. She folds her arms, features still carefully schooled into a blank expression, and says her piece. "I'll find a way."

"We can do it," he insists, moving to grab her hands and tug them to his chest. Killian swallows, hard. Emma still can't look him in the eyes, even if his hook presses gently against her cheek to try to convince her to. "Together. We'll figure out something, we always do. This is bait, Emma. You know it is. If you go back there, she has you right where she wants you."

If Emma can get there, distract Regina enough to lull her in a false sense of security, the second her back is turned she can trap her and end this once and for all. She isn't going to be able to do that if she's worried about Killian, if his life is on the line. Emma won't let him become collateral damage. Even if they came up with some half-baked plan, she'd still be risking Killian and Henry and everyone else who is counting on her.

Emma can't let that happen.

But she knows she'll never convince Killian of this, never convince him to leave her side in this fight while she serves herself up on a silver platter. Emma sighs in resignation, closing her eyes and leaning into the metal of his hook. Her hand tightens on his and Killian lets out a breath of relief before pulling her into a tight hug.

"I can't lose you," he tells her, voice fierce as his hooked arm wraps around her waist and his hand tangles in her hair. Emma burrows herself into his neck and clings to him just as tightly because she -

"Can't lose you, either."

"Well then I suppose we're going to have to hang onto each other, aren't we?" Killian chuckles, but the sound is muffled. Whether it's muffled by her hair or his own emotion, it's hard to tell.

Merlin is oddly quiet, taking in the scene with a thoughtful expression. Emma wonders if he's thinking what she is - the village will burn and people will die if she doesn't at least appear to give Regina what she wants. Emma meets his eyes over Killian's shoulder and Merlin frowns, seemingly interpreting her expression.

' _Don't tell him,'_ Emma mouths, feeling Killian's hand slide further into her hair as he rocks with her in his arms.

Merlin doesn't give any indication that he's read her lips aside from the pinch in his expression.

-/-

They spend the night researching various methods of protecting the village that Emma knows will never work. No matter how many protection spells they look up, they won't get there in time. Even if Merlin _'poof'_ s them right over there and they beat Regina to the village, it won't work. The guards will still be there, ready to follow orders to kill as needed. They can't freeze them if they don't know where all of them are. She can't concentrate on any of the assortment of books Merlin manages to summon, can't try to compose a plan as a team when she already knows what needs to be done. Killian would never dream of potentially sacrificing her in exchange for protecting that village, but Emma knows -

Killian told her, before, that Regina was good at exploiting weaknesses. He virtually told Emma that her heart, her fear for other people, was an obvious target for Regina. They were afraid for so long of trying this, acting on the feelings between them, because they knew that they'd eventually be used against each other.

She's glad it didn't keep them apart for too long. If this is all they're going to get and everything goes terribly wrong, Emma wouldn't have changed a second of it.

Emma can't let Killian get hurt because Regina is coming after _her_. He may have his share of wanted posters, but it's not him Regina has been hunting down for the past twenty eight years. It's her. If where she's vulnerable is how much she cares about him, how much she can't let anything happen to him, Emma can't have him anywhere near her when she confronts Regina.

If her magic can knock back Merlin and freeze Killian, Emma thinks she should be able to do the same with Regina. If she can channel that much emotion from a second of Merlin pretending to threaten Killian, she's sure she can do a hell of a lot more than that for a woman who has slaughtered hundreds, ruined the lives of the entire kingdom, and tried to kill her and everyone she cares about dozens of times. Emma has magic. She can use it, now, for the most part. She doesn't have time to wait, doesn't have time to train, she just has to stop Regina before she hurts anyone else.

She's already got the beginnings of her own plan in her mind. If it works, they won't have to worry about Regina ever again and everyone will be safe. If it doesn't...at least the people she loves the most will have a better shot at fighting on without her.

Even Merlin's last ditch suggestion of a memory spell on the guards seems way too risky. Her best option - her only option - is going it alone. Emma hands her head, hands cover her face, as she sits beside Killian and across from Merlin by the fire.

"You alright, love?" Killian asks, voice cautious, as he gently moves her hair out of her face. Her eyes feel clouded with unshed tears and she blinks them back, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"Just worried," she replies, telling the truth but still feeling like she's lying. Emma tries to focus on the page in front of her, a map of a village she already knows like the back of her hand.

This is the worst part of it, she thinks. Lying to him.

She can see the toll this is already taking on him, the slump in his shoulders. He's frustrated and so is she, not eager about running into wall after wall. Emma just has to make her peace with what she has to do.

"We'll figure it out tomorrow," Emma tells Killian with a smile that she's sure is too watery to be genuine. Killian exhales shakily, hand moving to cup her cheek. Emma slides her hand up to his, knotting their fingers together. "Let's get some sleep."

Killian opens his mouth as if to argue, but gives it up when she slides their intertwined hands to her mouth to press a kiss to his skin. "Alright," he agrees reluctantly. He moves their hands down to his lap, running his thumb over her knuckles. "We'll rest."

Emma turns to Merlin, who is still bent over books with a furrow in his brow. Emma speaks up, interrupting him from his studies. "Hey, are you okay keeping watch for a little bit while we get a couple of hours of sleep? We'll take shifts -"

"It's fine," he reassures her immediately. "I've done enough resting, there's only a few more hours left until daylight. Rest as long as you need to. You'll need it, with all the work to be done in the morning."

Emma nods in understanding. Merlin looks perturbed, likely because she knows what she's thinking, knows what she must be planning. All she can do is hope that he doesn't say anything to Killian and doesn't chase after her when she bolts. Merlin doesn't open his mouth again and she decides to take it as a good sign. She guides him towards the tent Merlin set up earlier and closes the flaps behind her.

-/-

Killian nearly collapses once they're inside the tent, feeling as if his knees are about to buckle. Emma's hand is still in his, the steady weight of it reassuring. The grass scratches against his skin through his leathers as he dramatically slumps to the ground and tugs Emma on top of him. She lets out an _'oof'_ of surprise, but he has her where where he needs her. As she catches her breath, he slides her hair out of her face with his hook.

"Sorry about that," he tells her, voice light.

"No, you aren't," she replies wryly, dipping her head down until her lips are just inches from his. "But that's okay. I like you like this."

Killian raises his eyebrows. "Underneath you?"

"Happy," she corrects, eyes soft. "I like seeing you happy."

His heart thuds in his chest, aching at the thought of what lies ahead of them tomorrow. If anything happens to her or Henry or Geppetto or even Merlin - he'll never forgive himself. Killian can't lose her, the woman who has given him everything. The woman who has let him become the hero he used to dream of being, though one that pales in comparison to her.

Killian won't let anything happen to her. He refuses to even think about it.

Emma frowns as she notices his face becoming more solemn, pressing her cheek against the metal of his hook. "I said I liked seeing you happy, not that I wanted you to get sad on me."

"I'm worried," he tells her with a sigh. "If that wasn't obvious. Worried about you. I know you're powerful, love, I just wish we had…"

"More time," Emma finishes, vulnerability flashing across her face. "Yeah. Me too."

Killian is about to say he's glad she abandoned the idea of going after Regina alone so quickly, that their chances are much better together, but Emma's lips brush against his before he can get a word out. Killian kisses her back greedily (he's always been greedy with her - a pirate and his treasure, though that's not quite the right description when he's always been _hers_ ) and he tangles his hand in her hair.

Her legs slide around his hips and he tries to adjust himself to allow her to sit more comfortable on top of him, but grunts in discomfort when his back presses against a particularly hard rock. "Rock," he grunts, leaning his head back so he can say the words. "We should move that out of the way, unless you'd like a partner with a large bruise on his back."

"I'll get blankets," she laughs against his lips, standing up shedding her coat and shoes. "We still have those, right?"

He grins, unable to help it despite the circumstances. He stands, kicking the offending stone away and checking that the earth in the middle of the tent is soft enough to do the job. "Aye, we do. In my satchel, I believe."

Emma nods, moving to the corner of the tent to dig into the bag. He takes the time to shed his own coat and boots, his eyes on her as she bends over. He's quickly finding another activity more enthralling than sleeping. Killian needs her, can feel the need deep in his bones, the need to feel she's right here with him. The need to feel that she's alive, that she's staying, that she's not leaving. Emma agreed to work together on this and he just needs to show her that they're better this way, together.

He can't do this without her.

She folds a blanket onto the grass and her lips are on his in an instant, arms around his neck and tongue sliding against his. Killian groans into the kiss. He nearly topples over from the force of it when her legs wrap around his waist, keeping her weight on him. Killian sits down slowly with her in his lap, breaking apart from her lips only to gasp in lungfuls of air.

He loves her so much he burns with it.

Her touch burns against his skin as she moves one of her hands to undo his buttons, needy and grinding down on him in his lap. There's a desperation in the way she clings to him, as if Emma can't get him close enough. Killian can understand the feeling well enough.

When his vest, shirt, and brace are off he immediately sets himself on divesting her of her clothing. Once her upper body is bare, he leans his head down to lick and nip along the curves of her breasts. Her hand curls in his hair and she gently tugs him away, kissing his lips again as she presses his back against the ground.

Killian complies, breaking apart from her kiss to look at her. Emma stares at him for a moment, her hands resting on the top of his chest. She looks as if she's mapping every detail of his face, eyes scanning him as if searching for something. He almost says something, almost asks why she's taking pausing their lovemaking for the sake of staring at him, but when she cups his jaw with her hands and leans up to kiss him -

It's hard to remember the question, let alone his own name.

The kiss is soft, gentle, careful at first. Her lips brush against his in a careful exploration. It's baffling, given it's hardly the first time they've kissed in the last twenty seconds, let alone ever. But it grows more passionate and her hands slide to his hair, pulling him closer until her tongue is sliding against his lower lip. Killian moans, deepening the kiss and resting his hand and wrist on the sides of her face.

"I love you, Swan," he murmurs when they break apart.

Emma just kisses him again, this time even more passionately. Her hands go to the strings of his leathers, hastily untying the knots. He groans, the sound guttural and muffled by her lips, when she palms him. Killian slides his hand down to Emma's pants, undoing her laces in turn, and moves down to drag the clothing off of both of them until they're both bare. Killian flips them over so that he's on top.

She slides her hands to his sides when he props himself above her by his elbows, dipping his head down to kiss her once more. Emma widens her legs just enough to let him slide between them, moving to kiss his shoulder. His hand slides down to her center, fingers caressing her hot skin, and rubs her clit in gentle circles. Emma groans, her lips leaving his as she tilts her head back. Killian takes the opportunity to catch one of her nipples in his mouth, tongue running over the tip.

"Killian," she rasps. "Just -"

"Just what, darling?" he asks, voice thick as he rests his head between her breasts. He picks up the pace at her clit and she lets out a gasp. "What do you need from me, love? Tell me what you need and I'll give it to you, I'll give anything-"

Her legs lock around his waist and she tugs his head up to meet her lips once more.

Anything, he'll give her anything she wants.

"This," she mutters. "I just need this."

Killian presses into her slowly, hand moving to settle at her hip. He closes his eyes, just relishing in the sensation. He tries to forget it all - what's to happen tomorrow, what they need to do, all of his fears about the worst coming to pass. He tries to just think of Emma, tries to catalogue her gasps, tries to burn every single bit of happiness they have into his brain.

Plan or not, there's a sense of foreboding settling on his shoulders. Something doesn't feel right, and for all of their prior victories…

Emma shifts against him once he's all the way in, panting out his name in a way that can only be described as wanton. "Please," she says, and the timbre of her voice combined with how tight and hot she feels around him just serves to make him want to pin her to the bloody forest floor and rut into her hard and fast.

"Please what?" he prompts, his voice so thick it's hardly audible.

Emma clenches around him and Killian can't hold back his moan.

"Bloody hell, love."

Killian takes this as all the prompting he needs to starting moving, starting off slow until her heels start pressing harder and harder into his arse. Emma keeps kissing him, not letting him breathe for a moment, and he finds he doesn't even want to. He's nearly slamming into her now, scrambling on his knees to find the right leverage to take her as passionately as she wants it.

Maybe he can make them both forget, make them both focus on how this feels rather than what will happen tomorrow.

He feels wetness when he brings his hand to her cheek to deepen their kiss and freezes. When he opens his eyes, she's sniffling and her eyes are red. The sight makes his blood run cold.

"Emma?" he asks, voice cautious as he stills inside of her. Killian brushes away the tear his fingers caught. "Emma, sweetheart, what's the matter? Did I hurt you? _Bloody hell._ "

She shakes her head vehemently, her hands tightening further on his shoulders. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. It's fine, I'm fine, just keep," Emma can't continue the sentence and Killian worries, catching another tear with his thumb.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Killian presses, voice gentle.

"I'm just…" Emma trails off, voice breaking. "I'm worried. Worried about if anything happens to you or Henry or Geppetto and...I can't let anything happen to you, Killian, I can't."

"Nor I you," he murmurs, still gently caressing her. "Would you like me to stop?"

"No," she protests immediately, holding him even closer to her. Her legs lock around his waist. "No, I...I need you, I need to feel you. I need to know you're okay."

"Okay," Killian replies softly, gently moving his hips against hers. "Is this alright?"

Emma kisses him hard, one of her hands tangling in his hair, and Killian takes that as enough of an answer.

-/-

Emma wants to cry more, knowing what his reaction is going to be when she leaves. He'll try to chase after her. She knows that, knows he wouldn't let her go alone in what could be a suicide mission without a fight. All Emma can try to do is get a head start.

This could be goodbye. The knowledge weighs heavily on her shoulders and when he shifts his hips it almost burns. But it feels good, feels like _something_ \- she knows he's here with her, knows he's safe. Emma lets out a sharp gasp as he sets his pace inside of her again - this one much slower. It's fuller, too, in the way he gently presses into her to the hilt. She leans up to kiss every inch of his skin she can find, starting with his lips and cheeks and bracing herself on her elbows until they're chest to chest and she can shift her attentions to his neck.

Emma doesn't want this to end, doesn't want to have to leave when this is all over. But at least this way she can leave him satisfied, even if it's in some small measure for a short period of time. At least this way, they have one last night together if the worst outcome is what they're given. Emma hopes that's enough to satisfy him.

As long as Regina is out there threatening people she loves, Emma will never be satisfied.

She curls her legs tighter around his hips, panting out his name and biting back a moan when he sinks in just the slightest bit deeper. He keeps up that same rhythm and Emma clings to him for every moment of it, trying to remember how he feels like this. How his skin molds against hers, how his lips brush against her, how he moans out her name. Emma has to remember all of it - how much he loves her, how much he's always supported her, how he's had chance after to chance to leave her and never did.

(She's going to leave him, instead, but if there were any other way that didn't involve putting him at risk…)

"Harder," she tells him, so she has something else to think about. Emma wants him to chase the doubt away, the guilt, the fear.

"Hard enough to make you forget?" he asks, hissing the words out as he bottoms out.

"Hard enough to make me remember," she corrects.

A muscle in his jaw tics and his eyes burn into hers. Killian gives her a nod, moving to balance himself on his knees. He speeds up slowly, but a few minutes later he's pumping into her so quickly it's hard to even keep a firm grip on him. She rocks her hips against him just the same, breathing out his name while he gives her a steady stream of muffled curses and desperate endearments. He dips his head to suck at her pulse point with one particularly deep thrust and she knows this is what she wants, this is what she needs.

Emma has to remember every second of this.

"You're so good," he wheezes, "so bloody perfect, here with me."

It's not the first time he's told her this. "You've, _fuck_ , said. You're pretty perfect yourse-" she lets out a high pitched moan, rocking against him as he drags his beard along her collar. "I couldn't ask for anything better."

She bites back a sob, whether from pleasure or emotion she can't tell.

"Nor could I," he agrees softly, pushing in and out of her steadily. "Not one thing could be better than this, than you."

She comes a moment later, gasping out his name and clutching his shoulders so tightly she wonders if her nails leave marks to accompany the scars already there. Killian takes a few minutes to follow her over, adjusting her hips so he can reach even deeper inside of her, but when he does he nearly collapses on top of her. He settles his head on her shoulder, arms wrapping around her and the brunt of his weight kept off of her by his knees.

Emma runs her hands up and down his back soothingly, just feeling them both come down from the high. Killian rolls over and out of her after catching his breath. She settles at his side, nuzzling into him until her head is pillowed on his chest. He curls his arms around her immediately, humming as he kisses her temple.

"How is that for memorable?" he chuckles. Emma, without the distraction, is lost in her own thoughts again. She moves her hand to his chest, rubbing up and down his skin mindlessly. "Emma? You sure you're alright?"

"There's something," she starts, uncertain of how to begin. "There's something I wanted to tell you."

He shifts to peer down at her and meet her eyes. "Aye?"

Killian has to know this already. She shouldn't even need to say it, but -

It's not right, to say this as a goodbye.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," she settles for, curling further into his side and knowing _exactly_ what she's going to have to do without him.

"Nor I you, love," Killian replies easily, his lips brushing against her temple. The words sting. Emma can't let herself imagine what things are going to look like in the morning when she's gone. She does anyways. Emma wonders if he'll know in an instant that she left without him, on a mission she told him they'd fight together on. She wonders if he'll assume that she only left for firewood or something and would be back in no time - if the gnawing in his gut would eventually give way to the knowledge that she's gone and he's too late.

Emma has to be able to do this. She has to have faith that she can win this fight, that she can come back to him and everything will turn out okay. If her happily ever after is Killian and Henry and her parents and the strangest extended family in the world - she has to fight for that.

And Emma has to leave.

She waits for him to fall asleep. It doesn't take long, after being tired out like that, and it's all Emma can do to force her own eyes to stay open. Eventually, his grip around her softens and his breathing becomes deeper.

Emma spends a little bit of time just studying him, analyzing the planes of his face. He's exhausted, she knows, she can see the bags under his eyes. His hair is tousled - it was even before they made love to each other - a side-effect of him running his hand through his hair one too many times. It's getting a little long, too, a few strands hanging in his face. Emma just wants to smooth her fingers over it and gently press it back. Maybe she could have cut it with her sword - she's mastered the skill over the years - but there's no time for any of that now.

Emma pulls out of his arms slightly.

She can't kiss him again, can't lean into him and feel like everything is going to be alright. She can't fight this battle at his side - the cost of it is bigger than she's willing to gamble - and she can't tell him what's bothering her. Emma can't let him take her fears and put them on his shoulders. This is something she has to do alone. Emma promised herself she'd leave after he slept, that she'd get out before he had the chance to follow her.

Maybe when this is all over, that'll be possible. Maybe they can have all that and more - a future after they've spent so long just living a day at a time. Maybe they won't have to fight for their lives every day, maybe they can spend a minute together without worrying about what's going to happen next and what move they're going to have to make. Maybe they can find a home - a real one, not just a borrowed room - and take in Henry like they wanted to. If Killian wants that home to be his ship, it can be the Jolly. It can be her parents' castle, if they ever take it back. It can be the middle of nowhere, Emma doesn't _care_.

What she wants - what she won't ever have unless she's brave enough to fight for it - is just that future. That possibility, that hope is all she can cling to right now.

"I love you," Emma murmurs, her voice soft so she doesn't wake him. She's brave enough to march into a trap, but too afraid to tell him how she feels even when she knows he feels the same. The byproduct of spending her life since childhood in some perilous situation or another and being too afraid to let anyone in, Emma guesses. Killian doesn't give any indication of waking up or hearing her, just breathes in and out steadily.

She'll tell him. If Emma's plan works out, if she survives - she'll tell him.

Emma gently bends her head to kiss his temple, lips brushing against his skin reverently. He still remains fast asleep, much to her relief. She almost wishes he'd wake up and she'd be forced to stay. Emma hovers over him for a moment, moisture collecting behind her eyes as she steels herself to do what she has to. With one last feather light brush of her hand along his face, she stands up and moves to leave.

-/-

When she gets out of the tent, Merlin is still vigilantly keeping watch by the fire with a book in his hands. Emma knows better than trying to sneak past him, he'd catch her in an instant if she did. Instead, she settles for the direct approach. Emma walks up to where he's sitting and stares him straight in the eye.

"I'm leaving."

Merlin promptly shuts the volume in his hands and sighs in resignation. "You should stay."

"Luckily, that's my decision to make. Not yours," Emma replies pointedly.

Merlin rolls his shoulders, hand coming up to the back of his neck. "There isn't anything I could do to convince you to stay? Or at least take me as some backup. What if I remind you of how he's going to take this, hm? You've been shoulder to shoulder in all of this, Emma," he reminds her. "How do you think he's going to react when you're gone? Did you at least give the man a goodbye?"

If she tried that, she'd never leave. Emma knows that - she's not any good with goodbyes, especially when it's to someone she can never see herself saying goodbye to.

"I need you to stay here. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid and get himself killed."

"Emma," Merlin protests, but she cuts him off.

"Tell me you wouldn't do the same thing if you were me, if it was someone you loved," Emma says, her eyes fixed to Merlin's. She doesn't let up an inch. "Tell me you wouldn't let go of them to keep them safe."

Merlin freezes, quiet. There's a beat of silence between the two of them - understanding, Emma would call it - and Emma takes that as all the evidence she needs.

"That's what I thought," she concludes, walking past him. Merlin thankfully doesn't follow her, lost in his thoughts. Emma steels herself for what she has to do, back straightening and unfolding her arms to rest at her sides. Emma knows what she has to do. She can't endanger anyone else, this is a fight she has to take care of herself.

Alone.


	21. Nightmare

**A/N: I'm going to try keeping this brief because I talk a lot more in the endnotes, so! As usual, thank you all so much for reading and sticking with me through this (ridiculously long) journey. I can't put into words how much I appreciate it.**

-/-

Emma waits on the roof of one of the cottages in the village, right next to the tavern she suspects Regina is bound to pass through. The advantage of spending so much time here is that she knows this village in and out. She knows where the guards patrol and where the people go, knows every entrance and exit, knows how to sneak into the village without being seen, and knows the spots on the roofs of her neighbors where she can't be seen from the ground. Regina might have the advantage of years of honing dark magic, but she made a mistake in choosing Emma's neck of the woods.

Emma waits for dawn patiently, her hand trained on the hilt of the sword in her belt. The sun is just barely beginning to poke through the sky. Whatever happens, she'll be ready.

When the sun starts to appear, Regina's guards - more than just the two usually stationed on this street - begin to multiply in numbers. Emma holds her breath and, sure enough, the Evil Queen herself appears flanked by a few knights.

If Emma wants to surprise her, now would be the time. The roof is only about a story high. She should be able to land on her feet just fine.

Thankfully, Emma does. The guards don't waste any time at all in immediately attacking her when she hits the ground, but Emma's sword is already drawn and ready. She's feeling confident about this part, at least. Emma doesn't want to show her hand and use magic quite yet, but swordfighting is something she can do.

Besides, Regina likes bragging too much to let her die like this. If she kills her, it'll either be long and painful or showy and public. Maybe a combination of the two.

"The Savior!" one of the guards she's fighting with proclaims, stating the painfully obvious. Emma elbows him in the mouth - cutting right under his helmet. He moans in pain.

"Yup," Emma replies curtly, grunting with exertion as she manages to run her opponent through. She turns around just in time to face the next one. "That's me."

It's difficult, fending off about three men at once with more to go, but she feels like she can handle it. Emma doesn't know if it's because of her magic or her fury or something else entirely.

"Stop!" Regina instructs, voice firm. The guards still and Emma follows, nearly rolling her eyes. "I want her alive for this."

A guard tries to disarm her, his hand darting towards where hers is gripping the her sword. Emma immediately pulls back, pointing the tip of it to his chest in a warning.

"Don't test me," she advises, voice low.

The guard holds both of his hands up in a gesture of surrender and the knights around her look that much more uncomfortable.

Regina looks that much more pissed off.

"Regina, right?" Emma asks, more bravado in her voice than she really feels. "I'm not that impressed."

"It's your majesty," Regina corrects, eyes flashing in irritation. She waves her hand and Emma's sword goes flying through the air and lands in the dirt. Emma doesn't bother to collect it. "And I can't say I'm impressed with you either, Savior. The legends said you'd be a great warrior - not some grown up street urchin," she clucks in disapproval. Emma has heard worse. "I don't suppose you have the pirate with you, do you?"

"He's dead," Emma answers, as calmly as she can. It's better Regina thinks this. If he's dead she has no one to track down. Killian could have a shot at surviving and finding his way out even if it all goes to hell here. Hopefully, Emma can manage to do something before he can come running after her. "One of your guards killed him. There was nothing I could do."

Regina narrows her eyes. "Hm. Somehow I don't believe that. Hook is like a cockroach, notoriously difficult to stomp out. I'm going to have fun killing you, but I suppose the pirate can wait until afterwards. Perhaps he'll be so distraught after I chop you into bits that he won't put up much of a fight."

Emma stares right back at her, unbothered. That is all she needs - a delay. More time to figure this out, more opportunity to do what she needs to.

"So," Emma begins curtly, crossing her arms. "You said you'd spare the village if you got me instead. Here I am."

"As if you'd come here alone," Regina scoffs, disbelieving. "You truly think I'm that stupid?"

"Have your men look around. They won't find anything."

Regina looks to a few of the guards and they nod at her unspoken order, already splitting up amongst themselves to search.

Emma isn't stupid enough to believe that Regina would honor a deal. She's shown no mercy or even logic when it comes to exercising her power. Emma can't gamble on Regina making good on her promises, but she hopes she can at least manage to outsmart her. She can let her think she's given up and then kill her as soon as her back is turned.

Regina has made it clear she's not going to kill Emma immediately and that she intends to draw her death out as long as possible. That works just fine for Emma. Even if she's weaponless, cuffed, and outwardly defenseless she'll have her magic. She'll be ready.

Regina won't.

And if Emma can minimize collateral damage in the meantime - Henry, Geppetto, Merlin, Killian - she'll do it. It's better if things go wrong and she's the only one who gets hurt. This is her battle and it's been her battle since before she was born. Emma is going to have to be the one to fight it. Even if it's alone.

"Did you find anything?" Regina asks the guards once they've returned and finished. One of them is carrying a satchel - Emma's satchel - that they must have found on the roof she jumped off from.

"Just this," the guard holding the satchel says, dangling it out for Regina's perusal. "It was on the roof. There doesn't seem to be any trace of anyone else."

"Good," Regina says shortly, her eyes flickering to where Emma is standing. Emma straightens, keeping her posture defiant. Regina takes ahold of the bag, holding the strap of it between two fingers as if she's too disgusted to touch the rest of it. "Perhaps she does have a lick of sense in her, if horrible taste."

If Regina isn't careful, Emma might just die from such insulting statements about her fashion choices.

She holds her tongue.

Regina digs through the contents, throwing down the things she finds haphazardly. Blankets, clothes, and some spare quills all fall out. It'd be a good opportunity to do something, Emma thinks, but she presses back the thought. It'll be easier when Regina thinks she's more vulnerable. If she sends out a spell now only to have Regina block it, the element of surprise will be one less weapon in her arsenal and Emma will be screwed.

The queen finally finds something that interests her, her hand holding up two leather cuffs. They're little more than tacky bracelets, Emma reasons, just ones that let her and Killian go up a magical beanstalk. They kept them just in case they needed to make a return visit. She doesn't know why Regina is so fascinated by them.

"What?" Emma asks, sounding bored. "You wanna critique my wardrobe some more?"

Regina laughs, nearly cackles. She drops the bag on the ground, forgotten, and waves her hand over the cuffs she's holding until they appear on Emma's wrists. The guards around them seem just as perplexed as Emma is.

"Pieces of leather," Emma eyes them, then Regina skeptically. "Intimidating. Whatever makes you feel better. Now, will you leave the village alone if I go with you?"

A wide grin spreads across Regina's face. It sends thoroughly unpleasant feelings down Emma's spine. "Oh, you poor fool. It does a little more than that. You have the thing that inhibits your power without even knowing it. How sad is that?"

Emma furrows her eyebrows in confusion. "They're," she holds up her wrists, "cuffs. I've worn one of them before. They're harmless."

"You're an idiot," Regina informs her. "An idiot that won't be able to use any magic anytime soon."

Emma scrunches her face, eyes darting back to the cuffs. She took one of the cuffs off after the beanstalk - actually, Killian removed hers from her wrist when they were undressing and she took off his - and didn't think much of them. There's no way they're whatever Regina thinks they are.

She tries moving her hands out to freeze Regina, intent on taking advantage of the opportunity in case Regina _is_ right and her magic has a chance of going away. Nothing happens. Regina just laughs at her. Emma panics, then tries to peel the damn things off by force.

"Don't waste your time trying. They can only be taken off by another person," Regina tells her smugly. "And it looks like there's not a helpful soul in sight."

Emma realizes just how grave of a mistake she's made, face paling as she frantically continues trying to pry the cuffs off.

-/-

When Killian wakes that morning, he's cold.

He frowns, eyes closed and body shivering slightly at the chill. There's another blanket draped over him - likely Emma's work, she must have gotten cold - but his teeth are still nearly chattering. Sleeping in a tent in the outdoors during the space between winter and spring was bound to cause some discomfort, but he's usually had no trouble keeping warm these pasts months. Killian groans, eyes still shut, reaching blindly for his usual source of heat.

Emma wouldn't have gotten up without waking him up first, he knows, not with conditions as they were. She must have drifted apart while they were sleeping.

Killian's hand finds nothing but more of the blanket he's sleeping on. When he reaches further, his fingers graze cool grass. He opens his eyes, looking around the tent for Emma. His brow furrows when he doesn't see her anywhere and he dresses quickly to find out where she's gone.

When Killian leaves the tent, he finds Merlin sitting on the same log he was last night. But there's still no trace of Emma.

"Where is she?" Killian asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and looking around at the clearing blearily. She couldn't have strayed away too far, he knows, perhaps she went to find breakfast or firewood or something of the like. "When did she wake up?"

Merlin's posture is pulled taut, his brow furrowed and his lips curved downwards. The fire that was keeping the camp warm last night is long snuffed out. Killian is suddenly feeling much more awake, dread curling around his heart.

The wizard waits a beat before answering Killian's question.

"She never went to sleep."

Killian's blood runs cold and he nearly flinches at the thought. Something seemed off, last night, her desperate touches not fully explained by just worry over what would happen in the morning. He can't believe it. He refuses to believe it. "You can't be saying…"

"I'm sorry," is all Merlin says.

The realization sinks in like poison settling in his stomach. Emma is gone. She left in the middle of the night, left him sleeping. Killian was holding her and when he woke up he wasn't. She slipped right from his fingers. The look in her eyes when she told him to make her remember, when he insisted that they fight together...

He wishes dearly he had something to throw. Instead, he has to settle for curling his fist.

"You're sorry?" Killian parrots in disbelief, voice hard and the volume of it rising. "You're sorry!"

"Emma was determined, there was nothing I could do-"

"Don't lie to me," Killian sneers, infusing as much pure contempt as he can into the words. He edges closer to Merlin, pointing his finger at him accusingly. "You could have frozen her in place! Argued with her! Woken me the bloody hell up! Done anything to prevent her from going on a bloody suicide mission!"

"Emma is powerful and capable," Merlin informs Killian pointedly. "If there's anyone who can combat Regina, it's her."

"I don't doubt for one moment that Emma is powerful, but you'd leave her to the grips of a sociopath who wants her flayed alive and strung out for all to see after a bloody day of training? What kind of man are you?" the words are filled with venom, with frustration, and with helplessness. "I've seen my share of pitiful bastards, but you by far are one of the worst. Tell me - what kind of coward leaves a woman to her _death_?"

"She's meant to face Regina and prove herself. Alone," Merlin explains, his words heavy. "Prophecy has decreed this and I knew it was coming soon. I had visions..."

"Oh, so you can see bloody _future_? Forgive me if I'm not willing to leave Emma to the whims of your hallucinations, you sniveling-"

"Prophecy isn't something to take lightly," Merlin retorts. "Without it, we're lost entirely with nothing to guide us."

"Can prophecy tell you how to save her from the trap you let her walk into?"

"It doesn't work like that."

Killian laughs caustically, his teeth showing in a snarl. "Of course it bloody doesn't - how convenient for you."

"You think I wanted this?" Merlin asks in disbelief. "There is no part of me that relishes in the idea of letting Emma go into a dangerous situation like that, believe me. I tried looking for another way. There was none. The Savior is our only shot at besting Regina. She made that choice."

"She could die! What bloody part of that don't you understand?" Killian asks, shouts more like, stepping away from Merlin with a frustrated growl. "Regina has been fantasizing about killing her for as long as she has been alive. And you willingly sent her to the woman."

"I have a responsibility," Merlin replies simply. His voice is softer, less defensive. "I have to make sure what is meant to come to pass, comes to pass. I never told Emma that she should do this on her own. She chose to do it. I encouraged her to explore other solutions, but she did what she thought she needed to. And upheld what is predicted of her as a result."

"I don't give a damn about your convoluted ideas of destiny," Killian says lowly. He huffs in frustration, rubbing at his eyes. "We're going to find her. And you're coming with me. I don't care what magic you're capable of, mate, if you don't help me find her and save her I will find a way to make you suffer for it for the rest of your pathetic life."

"I was about to suggest the same," Merlin replies levelly. "Just because it's predicted that she goes alone to face the queen doesn't mean we can't follow her to help. Now, do you want to waste more time shouting at me or would you like to get going?"

Killian scowls at him, irritated that he'd stoop as low to use Emma as an excuse to divert attention off of himself. He's even more irritated by the fact it's working. Merlin is, unfortunately, right. The longer he spends dressing the man down the longer Regina has to hurt Emma.

"Don't think I'm done with you," he tells Merlin lowly.

"Understood," Merlin nods. "To the village, then? I can get us to a more covert spot and we can search around."

"Aye," Killian grunts, his irritation seeping through. "To the village. Let's make haste, shall we?"

-/-

When they get to the village there isn't a soul in sight. Everyone looks to be boarded up in their homes, likely because of the Evil Queen's sudden visit. To get out and risk catching her ire could mean putting their heads - quite literally - on the chopping block.

He just hopes Henry and Geppetto are alright.

And Killian dearly, dearly hopes that Emma is alright. He and Merlin lurk around for a bit - the absence of anyone is eerie in what Killian can remember as a bustling community - and when they get to the middle of the village square there's not a soul in sight. Not even guards.

It doesn't feel right at all. He feels dread building in the pit of his stomach. "Where do you suppose the queen is? Do you think it was a false alarm?"

"Emma would be here if it was," Merlin points out with a frown. "Perhaps she'd hiding somewhere?"

Killian frowns. "Or she's been taken."

"We should think the best, hm?" Merlin sighs, hand rubbing his chin. "It won't do any good to assume the worst."

"Unless the worst has already happened," Killian mutters. He lets out a deep breath, attempting to compose himself. He'll need Merlin if he's to help Emma, whether he likes it or not. "If she were hiding, she'd be with Geppetto and Henry. Two...friends of ours. They live here."

"Perhaps we should check with them," Merlin nods. "They should know a bit of what's been happening, as well."

They move to walk away when Killian notices something.

"Wait," Killian stops Merlin, hand on his elbow. His eyes are set on the familiar gleam of metal in the dirt. Merlin pauses, heeding Killian's words. Killian hunches over the dirt, gently brushing away the loose dirt and uncovering the object.

"Is that…" Merlin prompts, voice cautious.

"Emma's sword," Killian finishes, a deep frown on his lips. He slides his hand to the hilt of it - slowly, reverently - and it shakes when he holds it in his grip. "She'd never leave behind her sword."

Merlin stands right beside him, craning his neck to look at the sword. "Unless she was captured."

"Or worse." Killian concludes grimly.

She'd never leave without her sword if she could help it. It's the same blade she fought him with when he officially introduced himself, the same blade that's saved his skin over and over again. Emma hates being defenseless. And now she is, presumably in the hands of the queen who wants her dead. His grip on the sword tightens until his knuckles are white.

"I'm sorry," Merlin murmurs, crouching beside him on the ground. "Emma is a fighter - she has more up her sleeve than just her swordsmanship. We'll find her."

He takes a moment to collect himself before replying. Killian fails in that pursuit. "I don't know what I'd do if - bloody hell," Killian bends his head down to wipe his eyes, his words coarse. "I can't lose her. Do you understand that?"

The angry, vengeful man from before is gone. It's replaced instead with his miserable, desperate counterpart.

"First, we need to find her," Merlin says. He sinks back on his haunches thoughtfully. "I could do a locator spell - I'd need something that belonged to her - the sword would be a good choice."

"I have a better idea," Killian replies, hand letting go of Emma's sword and reaching into his satchel. He pulls out the compass, cursing himself for not thinking of it immediately. "This will guide us to her."

Merlin frowns, eyeing the object with some suspicion. "You're sure?"

"It points you towards what you want most," Killian explains, his voice low. "Climbed a beanstalk to get it. It has always pointed towards her for me since we found it."

"Oh," Merlin murmurs, eyebrows raising. "I'm familiar with it - I've heard of it before. The compass has been missing for centuries. Suppose it makes sense the giants took it in their quest for treasure. I assumed that it was at the bottom of the sea because of a pirate crew."

Killian shoots him a dark look.

Merlin coughs. "No offense intended."

He rolls his eyes, tapping his finger impatiently against the glass of the compass. It's something to focus his attention on, at least. "I'd advise less talking and more finding."

"The good news is it would only work if she were alive," Merlin tells him, standing up and holding his hand out for Killian to pull himself up. "If what you desired most was gone...well, it would have nothing to point to. It doesn't exactly go in an ordered list and move on to the next thing that you want - the magic in this runs deeper."

"Then we'd better hurry before anything does happen," Killian sighs, standing up on his own and tucking Emma's sword into his belt. He holds the compass in his hand, looking from it to where it's pointing. Regina's castle lies is in the same direction. He hardly believes it's coincidence. "Thank the gods she still has her magic. If Regina attempts the worst she at least has the chance of being able to defend herself."

-/-

Emma is thrust to her knees by the hands of guards on her shoulders. She grimaces, already feeling the bruises the force against the stone floor is going to bring. Emma is magicless and defenseless, with cuffs restraining her power and her sword abandoned in the village. But she hasn't been killed immediately, which is a good sign. Sure, it's because Regina wants to make Emma's death slow and painful, but she'll take what she can get. She's broken out of places before. Maybe Emma can do it again.

Regina stands over Emma as the guards hold her down and, despite Emma's already numerous attempts to get away, she's stuck. She gave a guard a bloody nose, but not much else.

"The Savior," Regina spits out the word mockingly, eyeing her with distaste, "kneeling before the queen. How poetic."

Emma narrows her eyes. "Go to hell."

"Oh, I'll put you there myself," Regina hums, unconcerned. She's beaming, now, red lips extended in a nearly unnatural way. "I know just the place to put you in the meantime, however."

Put her? Emma furrows her brow in confusion. She was expecting a swift - if torture-filled - execution, not a cell.

"What?" Regina pouts exaggeratedly. "You thought I'd make it quick and easy for you? No. I've spent over three decades plotting my revenge. And I'm going to enjoy it."

Extra torture, it was.

Emma sighs.

"There's a cell in this castle I designed myself. It's my magic, my men's construction...it uses your worst fears and turns them against you," Regina explains, wide smile back on her face. She sounds ecstatic. "It will slowly drive you insane. Eventually, you'll die and just be thankful your suffering is ending. There isn't a soul who has survived it - just ask the villagers I experimented it on."

Emma only glares at her. She feels hatred pumping through her veins, venom like she's never felt before. Emma has hated this woman for as long as she can remember - hated the suffering and terror she inflicted on people. She hated the fear she and so many others constantly lived under.

Regina can't win.

Emma refuses to let that happen.

"What, no final words?" Regina tsks, "That's a shame, you'd think the hero would have more to say. _'You won't get away with this'_ maybe? ' _I'll find a way to kill you'_ is another one. Or maybe you can say your goodbyes one last time to the people that you love. I bet we'll be able to find the pirate-"

Emma seethes, wrists rubbing raw on the cuffs as the guards try to hold her back. Her lie of his death is worn away like her composure, thanks to the stress and fear. "You'll never find him."

Regina laughs. "Now, that's more like it."

-/-

They throw her in the cell roughly and she barely catches herself with her hands when the door slams shut behind her. Emma groans, the pain of having her arms pinned and her body roughly thrown hitting her. She moves to stand, eyeing the space around her to get a feel for it. It's more of a room than a cell - it's small and cramped, but there's a door rather than the usual bars. There's no window. No candles. It's just dark and desolate.

Perfect for Regina.

Emma is thankful she's never been afraid of the dark. She caught a glimpse of what the room looked like before the guards shut her in, when the light was able to filter through the open door. There's nothing in her besides stone walls and dirt. Maybe the torture is starvation and dehydration. It was a little rustic, but Regina doesn't strike her as particularly creative. The door must be hard to burst through, Emma reasons.

She tries the cuffs on her wrists again, grimacing when she can't manage to even get one of them off. If she ever sees Mulan again, she's going to have to have a serious talk with her about magic-suppressing cuffs. They obviously block more than just the beanstalk's enchantment.

Emma exhales sharply, her legs aching. She leans against the wall and slides down until she's sitting in the dirt, her hand rubbing at her eyes in an attempt to adjust to her surroundings. Emma feels exhaustion creeping up on her and, as much as she tries to resist it, it's starting to consume her. Emma's eyelids begin to feel heavier and heavier. Her head lulls against the stone, cheek pressing against her shoulder.

When she wakes up, it's light again. Emma squeezes her eyes further shut, the brightness an adjustment. Her breath hitches as she realizes what's wrong with that, the fog of sleep starting to dissipate. She passed out in a dark cell. It shouldn't be bright at all.

"Emma?"

She lets out an breath of relief, recognizing the voice immediately. Her eyes open and, sure enough, there he is. His coat hangs on his body as it always had, his sword tucked into his belt. "Killian," Emma stumbles to her feet, her arms going around his neck before she can think about it. "How did you-"

"You see, love," he laughs as he leans back to look at her. The embrace only last seconds. Emma frowns, her hands sliding to his elbows. "I knew you'd end up here."

"What do you mean?" Emma asks, pinching her face in confusion. "You mean the dungeons?"

"Well, after being foolish enough to chase after the queen, I expected as much or worse. A fitting entrapment for your mistake," Killian tells her, his expression cold.

Emma does a double-take. She expected anger, sure, if they saw each other again. Emma expected he'd be furious with her for risking herself, pissed that she left the way she did. She wasn't expecting this, though. Implying that she deserved being locked up and left to die? Incredibly out of character for him.

This feels different.

The hairs on the back of her neck stand up kind of different.

Emma was imagining passionate and fiery - telling her that she should never scare him like that again and that he's just relieved she's okay. He feels almost disconnected now, his eyes dancing around the cell and never quite focusing on her. He's angry, sure, but it's a cold kind of angry.

Killian must take note of her bewildered and hurt response because he immediately takes ahold of her hand. The callouses on his fingers are familiar, but his hand feels cool. It's a contrast to his usual steady heat.

"That was harsh," he acknowledges, frowning. Killian looks shamefaced by his words. "Apologies, love, I was just so worried I couldn't - you scared the bloody hell out of me."

Emma's eyes narrow. Maybe this is Regina's torture - posing as Killian or having one of her men pose as him. She's a capable sorceress, a charm like that should be no effort at all for her. "Okay. How did we meet Henry?"

"We don't have time for a walk down memory la-"

"Tell me or I'm not going anywhere with you," Emma replies acerbically, taking a step back from him. "If Regina is playing one of her games, I want no part of it. Either you can answer me or you're not him."

Killian sighs, scratching at the back of his ear in way that's achingly familiar. "We found him in an alley after he was run through by a guard. You healed him. We took him to Geppetto and had to leave him behind when the queen posted wanted posters of us."

She swallows. It's all true, but it still doesn't feel as it should.

"Emma, darling," he murmurs, stepping closer to her and folding her into his arms. Emma exhales slowly, her nose pressing against his shoulder. Maybe he's right. Maybe she's being paranoid. He knew everything. There's no way it could be anyone else posing as him - even if they had a dedicated stalker. "It's me. But we need to run if we don't want this little rescue mission foiled, eh?"

Killian grins at her, a soft gesture that she can easily recognize. She nods, swallowing the lump in her throat. Emma can hear his heart thumping under her ear as much as it always has. That must be there, too. Regina isn't controlling him. "Okay," she nods. "Okay. Let's go."

Maybe the cell just made her fearful.

He gives her a quick grin, releasing her from his arms. "Lead the way, I'll be right behind you."

Killian settles his hand at her waist to prove it, gently pushing her forward. Emma walks out of the cell with him at her heels, eyes scanning her surroundings as she quietly makes her way out of the cell and towards a back door that didn't look heavily guarded when she passed it. Killian's hand is still steady on her back as she slowly walks through the corridors, reminding her of his steady presence behind her.

It's reassuring, even if she's feeling anxious and scared and uncertain.

There's evidence of a struggle in one of the halls they start to pass that makes her pause and consider what could have caused it. Maybe Killian fought a few guards on his way in, but she's almost certain if that were the case that Regina would have taken notice of him and caught him. She follows the overturned statutes and tables littering the floor with her eyes until they settle on a horrific scene.

A couple's bodies, looking as if they'd just been killed, are laid out in the hall. Emma feels sick. She stops abruptly and only catches a slight glimpse of their feet.

They were people she should have been able to save.

Emma straightens. She can't stay stuck on that thought. Emma has to keep on walking if she doesn't want to be next. It's too late to save them, but maybe she can save other people. It's all she can do, all she can think so she can keep moving forward.

"Wait, love, aren't you going to say goodbye to your parents?" Killian asks, sounding perplexed.

His words make her stop in her tracks once again. Emma turns to him in horror. "What did you just say?"

He motions to the bodies they just walked past. "Saw them on my way in - recognized your mother. I suppose the man next to her must be your father. They had their hearts ripped out, I believe you can still see the dust on the floor-"

Emma shoves past him, racing towards the couple she just tried to avoid stopping for. She can't believe it. Emma refuses to believe it. She didn't spend all this time fighting for them, warring with herself about forgiving them, and meeting her mother without even knowing who she was only to find them dead.

But Killian is right.

The woman's eyes look peacefully shut. Her hand is lying limp in the man's, the blonde of his hair a familiar color. Frosty - Snow - her mother is the woman in question, her features too unmistakable to be anyone else. They're her parents. And they're long gone.

She collapses to her knees beside them, hands covering her mouth. "No," Emma shakes her head frantically. "No, no, no. This can't be real."

"I'm afraid it is, love," Killian says grimly, moving to stand behind her. She can't even pay him any mind.

"I'm so sorry," Emma sobs, bending over to take her mother's cold hand - the one that isn't holding her father's. "I'm so sorry - I was supposed to save you. I was supposed to make it better, I was supposed to meet you, I was supposed to tell you," she can't breathe, her lungs struggling to take in air with how harshly her sobs wrack through her body. "I'm so sorry. I failed you. I'm so sorry."

Her words become more and more incomprehensible, fueled by pain and grief and anger.. Emma is angry with herself, furious with herself because while she was dozing off in a cell she should have been able to get out of her parents were slaughtered. They only seem as if they've been dead for hours. They were counting on her to save them, to save everyone, to do what had to be done and Emma _failed_. She failed them.

And now they're dead and there's nothing she can do to bring them back.

She sobs gutwrenchingly, pressing her lips together to hold back wails. Regina could come, the guards could find her, and by staying this long she's risking everything. She doesn't care. Emma can't see how it matters, how any of this matters, if her parents are dead. She's never even met them beyond a five minute encounter with her mother when she didn't even know her true identity, the hand that is cold in her hands once holding a bird - but she'll never get the chance to know them.

Emma won't know anything beyond stories. She'll never get to tell them all they missed - the birthdays and the milestones and the years she spent alone and in pain. Emma will never get to look them in the eyes and know they won. They'll never know her as anything but a baby they had to give up before their murderer got to her. She spent years wondering and wondering and when she's this close to answers, to them, they're stripped from her.

The fighting, the loneliness, the abandonment - that all should have been worth it because it should have meant that she still found them. They were always supposed to find each other.

And all Emma found was their bodies.

She missed their lives and now she's missed their deaths.

Emma's throat feels raw, as if she's been screaming instead of holding screams back. She's still repeating her apologies, as useless as they are.

She feels a hand at her shoulder - Killian's. He folds himself around her, arms encircling her waist and chin propped on her shoulder.

"It's time to go, sweetheart," he says. "We have to leave, I'm sorry."

"Please don't make me leave," Emma begs, pleading with him to see, to understand. "Please don't, I need to say goodbye-"

Killian doesn't listen to her, just pulls her closer to him. "Listen to me, Swan. If we don't get out now, it'll be your body next to theirs. We have to leave."

"I don't care," she tells him, the words barely comprehensible. She's still crying, trying to cling onto her mother's hand. "I don't care, I don't care, just let me-"

He doesn't listen to her. Killian pries her away instead and she cries all the while like the parentless child she is.

-/-

"We should go back to the village," Emma tells him once she's wiped her tears away. They've settled at a nearby forest, far enough away from Regina's castle that it'll at least take time to chase them down. Her heart feels heavy in her chest, despair gripping her like a vise. "If I don't hold up my end of the... Regina said she'd destroy the village if she didn't get me. I'm gone and if she notices it could be signing them to their deaths. I can't let anything happen to any of them."

Her words are fragmented, almost garbled. Emma doesn't know how long it'll take for the image of her parents' bodies and the feeling of her mother's cold skin to leave her head. She doesn't know if it ever will.

"Well," Killian sighs. "I'm afraid it's too late."

Emma looks at him with alarm. Her voice is still hoarse from crying. "What do you mean 'too late'?"

"I mean it's already been massacred. Geppetto and Henry are dead. I saw their bodies myself, Merlin buried them when we arrived there too late."

The detached way he relays the news that the people she cares about are dead is stomach turning. But it's still not as disturbing and heartbreaking as the news itself. Emma feels tears building anew, her hand clasping over her mouth in horror. "Henry...Geppetto...they're both?"

"Dead," Killian finishes grimly. "Aye."

Her parents are dead. And someone who was almost like a parent to her is dead, too, along with a kid she could have -

Emma slumps forward with her face in her hands. She can feel herself pulling apart, bit by bit. She was holding herself together by a string after seeing her parents. Now it's as if someone took a blade to it, sawing the the thread into ribbons. Geppetto, the man she knew for so long,is dead. He was the kindly blacksmith who was always willing to look out for her, who took Killian in without hesitating, who agreed to keep Henry immediately. And Henry -

"I can't take this," she chokes out, her eyes filling with tears once more. "How am I supposed to take this? How am I supposed to keep going when all everything does is take and take and take - what am I supposed to have left to fight for? I can't," she presses her hair back, leaning her head back up again to look at him. "I can't keep going like this. Not if it means everyone I love dies. How am I supposed to fight when I just lose - I'm so tired of losing people and -"

It's incoherent rambling, is what it is, fueled by misery and grief that only seems to multiply.

"He was so young," Emma manages to say. "He was just a kid and we promised - we promised we'd come back for him. We promised we'd save him. And I failed."

-/-

Emma falls to her knees with a strangled gasp when they reach Henry's makeshift grave. Killian told her that Merlin dug it himself when they went to look for her and that he's off somewhere in the village trying to heal victims that stand a chance at surviving. Emma should meet him, have him take the damn cuffs off her so she can help.

But first, she needs to do this.

"I'm sorry," she tells the patch of dirt, knowing how useless the words are. "I'm so, so sorry. I should have been faster. I should have waited for Killian and Merlin, I should have-"

Emma sighs, the sound nearly sticking to the back of her throat.

"I should have saved you."

She should have saved all of them. Emma is the _Sav_ ior. And she couldn't even save some of the people she cares about the most. They left Henry behind so he'd be safer and in the process only got him killed. Her parents left her behind and only got themselves killed. Geppetto helped her and got killed.

The common denominator is her. She's not the Savior, Emma is the reason they're all dead. Her chest feels heavy, burdened by the weight of her thoughts.

"Tell me you love me," Killian commands, stepping beside her and catching her by surprise.

Emma looks up at him in confusion, her face still wet with tears. "What?"

"Tell me you love me," Killian repeats, voice firm. "Or I'll leave you here, right now."

"What the hell is wrong with you? Henry is dead," Emma spits out in disbelief, unnerved by the sheer callousness of him to command for her to declare her love over Henry's grave. It isn't like him at all to push her like this, even less like him to be this cruel. She stands on her feet. "Is now really the time?"

"I'm sorry, love," he apologizes, head hanging down in what is meant to be shame, but something still feels _wrong_. Emma feels like his apology is a lie, as much as it shouldn't be. It's the same feeling she had in the cell. While Emma has been a constant storm of emotion, Killian hasn't shed a single tear. "I don't know what's gotten into me."

Her eyes narrow. "Yeah. I sure as hell don't know, either."

There's a beat of tense silence between the two of them like there never has been before.

"Can you trust me?" Killian asks, voice sounding plaintive in a way that's almost childlike.

No, she thinks. She can't.

But it's Killian. She's always trusted Killian - he's the man that fights by her side one second and tucks her into his the next. He's the man who sat by her bedside and nursed her back to health when she was sick even when he thought there was a chance he could fall to the same illness, the man who gave up his home to help her find hers, the man who she _loves_. Emma does love him - the way he is always ready with a quip and a smile, the way he seems to know instantly what's bothering her and how to fix it, the way he's always stayed right by her side no matter what.

This, though, this doesn't feel right.

"You don't," Killian concludes, mouth set in a hard line. "You don't trust me, do you?"

Emma's expression sours, her face still tearstained. "No," she admits. It's another loss, on top of the four she's just endured. "I don't."

He laughs, the sound choppy and unsettling. Emma takes another step back, disturbed.

"It's about bloody time," Hook tells her, a sinister grin on his face. "Perfect timing, that is. I was nearly worried you found me out when you told me the plan for distracting those guards. The story was right down to the bloody details - the bit about me working for Regina all along and just warming up to you for the sake of getting you vulnerable. But no, of course, you're merely that foolish. A girl will believe anything when she's head over heels, indeed."

Emma stares at him in horror. "You can't-"

"Mean it?" he snorts, derision clear in his tone. "You don't know me at all, do you Savior? All those months as your devoted lapdog must have done their job a little too well. But it's time to wake up, sweetheart."

"Your heart-"

"Oh, please, darling. You can't be that desperate - looking for any explanation other than the fact that you got a little too sad and lonely and it clouded your judgement, eh? My heart is intact, dark mass that it is. Feel for yourself," he opens his jacket with a flourish. "I have a heartbeat, love. You felt it."

"This isn't..." Emma rasps, lost, "This isn't you."

"It's been me all along, love. You were just too foolish to see it,"

Her hand goes to the sword in her belt - one she took from Geppetto's shop when she frantically searched it earlier as if she'd be able to find Henry and Geppetto intact and alive - but if Killian's heart was taken she can't kill him.

Even if it wasn't -

She can't think about that.

Hook rolls his eyes and pulls his heart out of his chest himself, the hook apparently enchanted enough to allow him to do so. Emma grimaces at the horror of it before he slides the black heart right back inside of him. "Proof enough for you? I want all the credit for this, you see. Not Regina, not the Dark One - this is all me. Killian Jones - the man you are _so_ devoted to."

Hook says the words with a flourish. He's in control of himself. Emma's hands shake.

"Now, tell me you love me, will you? Or are you trying to convince yourself you never did?" Hook asks with a pout, his hand moving forwards to cup the side of her face.

Emma flinches back. "Don't touch me."

"As I recall, you quite liked when I did that."

"I don't know who the hell you are," Emma snarls, stepping backwards.

"Yes you do. I'm the man you're in love with - the man who taught you how to dance, the man who gave you a sob story about his background, the man you kissed in a flooding cave, the man who brought you to completion over and ov-"

"Don't say another word," Emma grits out, her muscles stiff.

Hook shrugs. "Oh, and of course, I'm the man who is going to kill you. Regina decided this would be the best torture - who am I to disagree?"

She manages to draw her sword just in time, meeting his with hers in a loud clang.

"Ooh, I like a girl with a bit of fight in her. Shows some spirit," Hook smiles broadly. It's all teeth. "I'm going to have fun with this. Shame I know all your weaknesses, isn't it? Like how you never quite manage to make your stance strong enough with your right leg," he grabs her by the boot, pulling the foot up to his hip.

Emma struggles for balance, but kicks him aside all the same.

"It's a two way street," Emma grits out, kicking her other boot towards his ankle. Hook winces, the blow having its desired effect. "You almost thought you sprained your ankle when we walked here - it's still sensitive, huh?"

He hardly takes any time at all to recuperate. It's the hardest sword fight she's ever been in. Every swipe of her sword is met with his, every block she makes is met with another quick swipe. Her foot falls into loose dirt - a fresh grave that wasn't patted down well enough, which is a sickening thought - and it takes a few strategic jabs in his direction to slide out of it.

He tries taking advantage of her imbalance, but before he can Emma knocks over a statue in the cemetery. It nearly hits Hook, but he's too quick and he escapes its path. She scowls, jumping over it and settling for charging at him instead. Hook flips her on her back almost too easily and she barely avoids a jab of his sword. Emma rolls over back onto her feet, feeling sweat on her back.

A twisted part of her is glad Henry isn't around to see this - to know that they'd visited his grave only for it to turn to this.

Hook swipes his sword in the direction of her neck and Emma scarcely ducks it in time. She's fighting much more defensively than offensively - partly because Hook has had centuries of practiced experience over her and partly because there's still a part of her clinging to the hope that this is all a trick.

Emma evades another blow by centimeters. She's going to have to let that hope go if she wants to live. He's already hurt her. Emma doesn't owe him anything.

She just lost her parents and Geppetto and Henry and now she's going to lose him, too.

Hook's blade slices the back of her hand, leaving an angry red mark when she steps back just in time.

Emma has already lost him.

With that knowledge, she tightens her grip on the sword. This time, when another blow comes, she's ready. Emma kicks him down by his weak ankle once her sword is locked with his. He's winded, just for a moment, and his sword is knocked out of his grip. She leans back, preparing herself to drive the sword into his heart.

She hesitates.

"Emma?" Hook asks, voice sounding small. He blinks slowly, as if he's waking up from a long nap. "Emma, sweetheart, what's going on?"

Emma immediately stops, her sword hovering slightly in the air. She's still on her guard, but - she wants to believe, she has to believe. "Killian?"

Killian rubs at his eyes, sitting up from where he was lying prone on the ground. "I think it was - bloody hell, one second I'm chasing after you and the next...why are we in a graveyard?"

Her posture slumps in relief. She lowers her sword and kneels beside him. It was just some kind of curse. He's back to normal now, he's better. None of that was real, none of it counted, they could still go find Merlin together and figure things out-

"Can't believe you fell for that," Hook chuckles darkly, shoving her to the ground and grabbing his sword.

Emma gapes at him in shock and disgust as he presses it right against her neck.

"Here's the thing, love. I'm willing to play dirty. You're not. Because underneath it all, despite how much you hate me, you still love me. And I feel…" with the flick of his hook, she's disarmed before she has the chance to try swinging. His eyes are cold and calculating. "Absolutely nothing."

Emma regains some of her composure and stares back at him defiantly. She spits in his face. "Go to hell."

"It's you that will be dying today, Savior. I do hate to break the news. What reason do you have left to live, really?" Hook sneers, blade still at her neck. "Your parents are dead. Our old mate is dead, a man as bloody oblivious and naive as you were. The boy you fantasized about having as a son is dead. You have no magic. Maybe it's a sign I care about you at all that I'm willing to end your suffering right here and now."

It's a tempting offer, she thinks. Geppetto is dead. Her parents are dead. The first time she set eyes on her mother and father together was when she sobbed over where their bodies were strewn. Henry, the kid she's come to care about so much, was murdered because she left him behind. She could have protected him. She could have saved him. Emma could have saved her everyone if she weren't such a helpless, useless excuse for a human being.

They're dead and it's because of her.

Hook stares at her, the love and softness that she swore she once saw in his eyes replaced with hatred and anger. She shouldn't have trusted him in the first place. All those times she thought he could have feelings for her, that Emma thought she was cared for and loved, were nothing more than a lie.

She's always been good at figuring out lies, but this one seems to have evaded her. Emma feels sick - thinking of all the times she let her guard down with him. She kissed him, slept with him, trusted him. She thought that he understood her, her emotional scarring and her defensiveness and how alone she's always felt and loved her because he felt the same way. Instead, he's just proven himself a hell of an actor.

Emma clenches her eyes shut, holding back a sob at the thought. Hook, at the very least, seems to wait for her permission to slit her throat.

She almost tells him to do it.

He's right. She has nothing left to live for. Her family is dead and the man she loves is preparing to kill her himself. She failed, unable to live up to the Savior title. Emma failed. She should pay for that failure.

But then she thinks about the people she loves, the people she thought she loved. Ingrid is still out there somewhere, healing people and worrying about the girl she accepted as her own. Merlin, Lancelot, Guinevere, Red, and Mulan and all the rest could still be alive. The people of this kingdom are still being hurt and killed because they want to function, want to breathe, want to live freely. Regina is still terrorizing people and she'll just continue to do whatever the hell she wants - killing people like her parents who just want to see their people thrive, slaughtering kids for nothing, and turning people like Hook into monsters.

As long as Regina is out there, she can't let other people get hurt. She destroys everything she touches and ruins the lives of everyone around her, but if she can manage to end Regina once and for all...that's _something_.

Emma can't stop fighting. She refuses to stop fighting.

She'll only die if it means she takes the Evil Queen down with her.

"I want to live," she says steadily, with fire in her eyes and determination in her voice.

"You don't have a choice," Hook sneers, but her shaking hands grab her sword from beside her and her arm comes around his back to stab him right in the heart. It catches him by surprise.

Emma holds his sword up with her other hand before it has a chance to fall on her throat when his grip loosens. She casts it aside as she sits up. The life is draining out of Killian's eyes as she does so and she recognizes the weight of what she's just done.

"I'm sorry," she gasps against his neck as he falls on top of her, pleading with him to understand. He's hated her all along, but something in Emma breaks when she kills the man she's loved all the same, the man she thought she knew. She spent so long trusting him, protecting him - it's instinct. "I'm so sorry."

His breaths are jagged, unsteady, and she knows it'll only be a few minutes. His arms come around her back and she panics for a moment, only barely managing to disconnect his hook from his arm before it reaches her back. His brow furrows, confused.

Killian's words are slurred. "I just want to hold you."

He just tried to kill her, is what he did, but she doesn't know if he just tried again with the hook. Emma lets out a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry," she repeats, hand tangling in his hair before she can stop herself. This is so fucked up, she thinks, cradling the man she loves - who she just killed, who just tried to kill her, and who never really loved her in the first place. "I had to."

Killian burrows his head in his neck as he says his last words. She should be repulsed by the touch, but she's weak and she allows it all the same, her eyes pricking with tears. He's going to be gone. She killed him. Emma killed him because she had to, because he would've done the same to her, but her friend and partner and lover and betrayer is dying and it's his blood she can feel between her fingers and seeping into her shirt. "You did it, Swan. You won."

He's dead before she has the chance to ask what the hell he means. Emma sobs at the realization, eyes closing shut and hands clutching him to her one last time. She can think about those lazy mornings in beds that were never theirs and the soft grins and gentle touches and not about the fact he tried to kill her and she had to finish him off first, that he's been lying to her this entire time, that he never loved her and would never be given the opportunity to.

She staggers to her feet, gently laying his body back down. It's more reverence than he deserves, all things considered, but she's earned the right to hold onto her illusions. Regina is still out there. Regina did this. And Emma has to keep fighting.

Emma wipes her tears and starts walking forward.

And then…

Emma jerks awake, gasping and covered in sweat. It takes her a moment to realize where she is, back in the cell Hook found her in. She gapes in confusion, eyes scanning her surroundings. It's dark, so dark she can't see. She can only feel the cool stones against her face, the dirt underneath her. It's the cell of her worst nightmares, Regina had said, and she'd drive herself insane until she died. No one got out of it alive.

Emma stands up on shaking legs, hand on the wall to keep her steady.

Somehow, she got out of it. Alive. Or well, she's still in it, but she's taking the seeming reversal of hell on earth as a good thing. The _'worst nightmare'_ part was appropriate, sure, and she doesn't think she's been so miserable in her life.

But she's alive. Killian is alive and he didn't betray her. Her parents are alive and are out there, somewhere. Henry is safe and sound with Geppetto. It was a nightmare, a shitty one, but a nightmare nonetheless. Emma was locked in with her worst fears and insecurities and she _won_. She lets out a long, shaky breath.

Emma just has to find Killian and Merlin and get the damn cuff of so she can kick Regina's ass. There's nothing Regina can do to her that will be worse than this, no torture that will break her. She's going to fight Regina and she's going to win. She feels along the walls with her hands until she finds what she's looking for. When she does, Emma tries the door to the cell on the off chance she'll get lucky and it will open.

It does - hardly making a creaking noise as the latch unlocks and the door swings ajar - much to her relief and surprise. Her eyes squint as she adjusts to the brightness. Emma guesses it's because Regina assumed there'd be no need to lock her in, that she'd die before she got the chance.

She was obviously wrong.

It'll be the last time Regina ever underestimates what the Savior is capable of.

-/-

Killian and Merlin's trek to the castle hardly takes any time at all, thanks to Merlin's magical ability to make them appear wherever he wishes and the power of the compass. They lurk outside the walls of the castle, crouched by shrubs and keeping a careful eye on the weaknesses of the fortress. Which is what the bloody thing is - a fortress the queen wages war from.

"We can't get inside of the walls magically, the queen has protections for that," Merlin explains. "But we should be able to sneak in, otherwise. She can be a bit lax."

"I remember her more as paranoid," Killian cocks his head to the side thoughtfully. He clings a bit tighter to the compass in his hand. "But I believe you."

"Oh, the paranoia is in the form of the guards. But in order to let them in and out she can hardly have any magical barriers on traditional entry into the castle."

"There's a back door that isn't well patrolled," Killian supplies. "Perhaps that'd be a good place to start."

"Or, I could just," Merlin waves his hand. The guards stationed in front of the palace freeze. "Do that."

Killian looks over to the man beside him, vaguely impressed. "Or that, I suppose. Reckon you could use that on Regina?"

"I'm afraid there's only one person who has the sort of raw power to do that," Merlin grimaces, standing up. "And it isn't me."

Killian mirrors his movements, standing himself. "I thought you were the oldest bloody wizard in existence?"

"What Regina and the Dark One have has been stolen from millennia of magicians. They don't play by our rules. And dark magic is volatile and unpredictable, only overcome by the product of the truest of love. The darkest of magic is only beat by the lightest of light. I may be the oldest wizard alive and know more spells than about anyone, but there's one person who superseded me in raw power. It's as my visions and prophecy have predicted it for centuries."

That person, of course, being Emma. Killian would feel pride if he weren't so busy nearly tearing his hair out in worry.

"So is that all you do?" Killian asks, squinting at the man. "Follow the instructions of an old book and some fancy dreams?"

"It's a bit more than that," Merlin retorts, sliding past the bushes. "Balancing the future is...complicated."

"I'll say," Killian snorts, shaking his head. He walks beside the man as he approaches the castle."So, you _can't_ defeat Regina?"

"Not by myself, no."

If that's the case, he's going to have a hell of a time getting Emma away from her.

The thought makes him think. The guards would expect Killian to go running after Emma. He's the man whose face is plastered everywhere as her cohort. Merlin, however, wouldn't be who they'd predict. They wouldn't expect anyone other than Captain Hook to try to sneak into the castle and save the Savior.

Killian thinks of what Emma would do.

The conclusion from there is easy.

"What do you desire most in the world, mate?" he asks Merlin, his voice gently pressing him.

Merlin hesitates, but answers. "To atone for my mistakes and ensure that darkness is defeated once and for all."

The mention of his mistakes piques Killian's interest, but there's no time to focus on that now. "And what is your way of doing that? Emma?"

Merlin nods, looking a bit shamefaced. "Yes. Prophecy-"

"I don't give a damn about prophecy," Killian repeats his earlier words, but they're more like an assurance than an insult. He hands the compass over to Merlin. "Find Emma. Get her out."

Merlin's eyes widen. "You don't want to get her yourself?"

"I'll be the diversion," Killian tells Merlin, not leaving any room for argument. "You, take Emma and get out."

"I could be the diversion," Merlin protests. "A few fireworks and the guards go running in one direction - if the queen gets her hands on you-"

"I know her weaknesses," Killian says, painting a reassuring smile on his face. Using Merlin is too risky. If Regina is distracted with Killian, though, she won't be able to see Merlin sneaking away with Emma. If Merlin can't defeat her, this is the best option going forward. Emma has a destiny, a future. He fully believes in her capability in accomplishing what she's meant to. Even if it's without him. "I'll be fine. Emma is the concern, here, not this old pirate."

"Not as old as I am," Merlin replies, frowning. "What's your plan?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "No fun if I give it away, is it?"

Killian takes a look at the second sword in his belt - Emma's - and hands it over to Merlin. His eyes sting with the knowledge that it's unlikely that he'll get to see her get it back, that he won't get to watch her wield it one last time. He likely won't get to see her at all, after this.

But she came her to sacrifice herself. There's only one way to right that.

"If you think you'll get out, why give me her sword?" Merlin asks, his tone knowing. He tucks the sword into his own belt.

"Suppose it never hurts to be prepared for the worst," Killian supplies, still attempting to keep his tone light. He won't have the man getting any noble ideas about saving his arse as well as Emma's. Emma needs to be the lone focus. He's not sure the wizard likes him after Killian's reaction when Emma went missing. Killian isn't even sure if he likes the wizard. But if Merlin is Emma's best shot, then he'll gladly give her whatever chance she needs. He spent centuries loading dice to win - if he can stack the odds in any way for Emma he'll do it in a heartbeat.

They're still walking together towards the castle. Merlin hesitates slightly as he gets to one of the doors, glancing at the compass now in his hands. The door opens into a hallway, one Killian recognizes easily from his time in the castle. The compass is pointing - predictably - towards the dungeons. Regina could be there along with Emma. But if Killian can get the guards running enough in his direction, he's certain he can hold them off long enough for Regina to follow him to his side of the castle.

He knows the queen well enough. She'll gloat and try to deposit him right next to her, torture them together. Only Merlin will have Emma out long before the queen will have the chance. It wouldn't be the worth effort to try to drag her to him, wherever Regina must have Emma chained up. It'd be much easier to bring him to her.

And Regina will have to do it herself. The guards won't be able to best him by themselves, Killian knows. Half of her guards at the castle are frozen and she usually only stations about ten total here. Five against one isn't the best odds, but they'll be manageable for purely distraction purposes. All Killian has to do is not get caught.

Which should be plenty manageable.

He eyes the throne room contemplatively. It's across the castle from the dungeons and it'd be a spectacular place to cause a room likely has a few guards. Perhaps he can stomp on a few crowns, rip up the upholstery of the throne, do something dramatic and statement-making.

"Looks like a good place for a diversion," Killian murmurs, pointing his thumb towards the room in question. "Dungeons are downstairs - the compass isn't suited for ups and downs."

"So," Merlin exhales. Killian swivels his head back to look at him. "I take that to mean this is where you wish to part ways."

He longs to follow the compass, to get to where Emma is and see her one last time. But if he does it, it could be the last thing either of them see.

"Aye," Killian nods. "This is where we part ways. Keep her safe, will you? I know Emma can keep herself safe any day of the week - if we had a battle I'm sure she'd kick my arse - but I need...I need someone watching her back if...I can't."

Merlin doesn't say anything. He just nods.

"Thank you," Killian says, hand coming up to the man's shoulder. His gratefulness is genuine and he can feel a sense of relief spread through him. Even if he doesn't survive, he needs Emma to. Killian isn't a fool - he understands the stakes. And if it's his life for Emma's -

Well, it's a trade he'd gladly make.

-/-

Much to his surprise, when he walks into the room the queen is already seated on her throne and looking at herself in a handheld mirror. Regina hardly seems to notice his entrance, too engrossed in her own reflection.

"Bloody hell, you locked up the Savior and you still can't stop looking at yourself? And I thought _I_ had a proclivity for vanity," Killian announces his presence loudly, rolling his eyes.

The mirror clatters to the floor, glass shattering on the stone. Killian remembers rumors that she used to have a magic one, a genie trapped inside that could show her whatever she wished to see. As far as he can tell, that mirror met the same fate as the one she just shattered. If she still had it, Regina would have found the two of them a long time ago.

Regina's shock doesn't last for long. Her expression turns to that of utter elation. "Well, well-"

"Well," Killian finishes with a sigh. "You should get a mite less predictable. Gets tiring, hearing the same things over and over."

"You always did have a big mouth, Hook," Regina's good mood, despite his words, doesn't seem to be affected. "Let's see how much you have to say now that you know I've killed your little girlfriend."

Killian narrows his eyes. She's not dead - Merlin explained so himself. If she was, the compass would have stopped working. And it's unlikely she killed her within the last five minutes since he's seen the damn thing. Clearly, Regina made a misstep. "Oh? What makes you think that?"

"Don't worry, Hook. I have something similar in the works for you," Regina hums, unconcerned. She doesn't even seem to be motioning to attack Killian or subdue him, which is decidedly unusual for a woman who spent so much time trying to her guards to do just that to him.

As if he's summoned him, a guard opens the door to the throne room looking rushed. He gapes at the sight of Killian and then at Regina's relaxed position on the throne, but the boy obviously came in to announce something of great importance.

"The Savior has escaped," the guard says, his words coming out in a hurried garble.

Killian tilts his head back and laughs, the news music to his ears. Merlin succeeded. Emma is safe. As soon as the words sink in, Regina suddenly gets remarkably less laid back. Killian goes flying across the room, chains breaking through the wall he's slammed against to twine around his body and keep him pinned in place.

"How did this happen?" Regina sneers, livid as she approaches Killian. He remains silent, a victorious smile still on his face. She turns her head to the guard, wordlessly asking him to supply her with more information.

"Well, you told us the cell door wouldn't open. It opened. The Savior wasn't in it. And our men - well, the men we have stationed in front of the palace are...stuck."

"Stuck?" Regina repeats, her voice raising. "Stuck? How did they get stuck? And how did she escape?"

The guard shrugs helplessly, grimacing as if expecting more of the onslaught.

"If you don't want your head on a spike, I strongly advise you to search every square inch of this castle and the land that surrounds it - search the entire damn kingdom if you need to! You're going to find her. And you're going to bring her right back here and I won't hesitate for a second to kill her just like I will," Regina back to Killian with an expression of pure hatred, "this pathetic excuse of a man."

He's heard worse.

"Go on then," Killian goads, still struggling against his magical bonds. Regina just eyes him contemplatively, as if she's considering what kind of weapon she can mold him into. "Kill me. Get it over with. Still won't get you your Savior."

Regina turns back to the guard, angrily pointing him out of the room. He follows the command immediately, nearly running out of the room. The queen looks back at Killian with an expression of calm that carefully masks her fury.

"You know, I would have. If you didn't go around cavorting with the Savior, I would have made it a quick and easy death. Snapped your neck, maybe. You wouldn't feel a thing," Regina hums, hand coming up to rest on her chin. "But that - how would you say it? - that ship has long sailed."

"Fine, then," he glowers at her. He won't beg for mercy, won't take back a single thing he's done these past months. Killian may be many things, but he isn't a coward. "Torture me. Do whatever you damn well please."

It doesn't matter what happens to him. What matters is that it's him Regina has to use as a her own personal torture toy and not Emma.

"I know, I know," Regina huffs, rolling her eyes. She sweeps her hands out in a wide gesture. "You're a big hero now, aren't you? Saving kittens from trees with the Savior, giving back children the candy the Evil Queen has stolen from them. Given even as my assassin you had to hide targets from me, I shouldn't be surprised that you're delusional enough to think you can be one of the grand old heroes."

Getting lessons on delusion from a woman who purportedly decided to engage in mass slaughter because a ten year old told a secret seems a bit too much for him. He doesn't respond, keeping his expression stubbornly aloof.

"Let me guess - it was all worth it if you could save her?" Regina coos mockingly, sauntering up to where he's chained. "How pathetic."

What's pathetic is Regina thinking she can get to him now, after everything. She's right in some respect, of course. He doesn't regret any of it if it means Emma is safe and intact. Sacrificing himself for her sake - in the way she tried to do for him - hardly seems pathetic. What would be pathetic is being selfish and paying more mind to his hide than anyone else's. What would be cowardly is ending up like the man he was - the man who killed Cora, the man who plotted in Neverland, the man who saw revenge and nothing else.

Bravery, he's learned by now, is measured by fighting when it all seems fruitless. Not by giving up, not by caving in, not by turning situations to his favor and his alone. The pirate who boasted of his exploits and the blood on his sword, for all his swagger, was a coward. Then man he is now, willing to die if it means he stood for something at all, Killian hopes has a bit of courage in him.

If he can save one person, that would be enough.

If he can save her, that will be enough.

Killian doesn't respond to to Regina's barb, electing to simply stare at the wall behind her instead.

Regina scowls, stepping closer to him until she's forcing him to meet her eyes. Her nails dig into his skin like talons. "Answer me, pirate - was it worth it? The torture you're sure to endure - there's magic that can peel a man's skin off, makes losing a hand feel like a papercut - and your inevitable, miserable death? Will that all be worth it?"

"Yes," he answers, clearly and definitely. "It was worth it."

Without preamble, she reaches into his chest and pulls his heart out. Killian gasps in shock at the unpleasant feeling of having the source of his autonomy stripped from his body, holding back a grunt of pain as her hand clutches the organ. It's a sensation that feels all too familiar, his heart in the hands of another person.

"Crush it," Killian demands, panicked. "Just crush it."

"You think you can give _me_ demands?" Regina raises her eyebrows in disbelief, giving the heart a firm squeeze and making Killian seize in pain. "I believe I promised you torture - what better way to do that than by controlling you? You hate that more than anything, don't you, being controlled?"

Killian feels more agony in the space in his chest where his heart was. He bites his lips in an attempt to prevent sounds from escaping. If she's frustrated enough with his lack of vocalization, perhaps she'll get carried away and squeeze hard enough to pulverize his heart into dust. He was imagining torture, of course, but his mistake was assuming that his would look like her other victims'. Beheading, lashings, toenail ripping - the usual routine he'd be able to handle.

This is his own special brand of torture.

"I give you this miserable waste back to you," Regina lifts his heart in front of his face, "and your way of repaying me is by hiding criminals and working with my worst enemy? And what, you expect me to give you a nice little send off?"

"Nothing welcome about killing me," Killian claims, wincing at another flash of pain in his chest.

"A quick and easy death would be too simple for you. No, what I have in mind for you is much, much better," Regina says with a maniacal grin. Killian feels his first flash of genuine fear. It was one thing to die and another to suffer, but the idea of becoming her puppet in the way he was Rumplestiltskin's is possibly the worst outcome he could have imagined.

He was so worried about Emma he didn't _think_.

(But she's alive. That's what matters, that's what has to matter.)

"You said it was worth it?" Regina questions, goading him. "Well, let's see how you feel about that when I make you kill her. Or have her kill you, really, I don't care either way. Both ways, either one of you die in the worst possible way - at the hands of someone you love."

Killian swallows, desperately trying to think how he can get out of this.

"So what, just kill the lass and I live? Seems too easy for the likes of you."

Pretending not to care won't work, he knows, but he has to _try_.

"After saying it'd be worth it to die for her?" Regina says, not buying the excuse for a minute. "Please. And you won't live, either way. You kill her, I kill you. She kills you, I kill her."

It figured.

"Just accept it, Hook. The difference between so-called heroes and people like me is that they all have weaknesses. They all have things they care about, people they care about. Me? There's nothing anyone can do to me. All I need…" Regina turns around, eyeing the throne behind her contemplatively, "is power. And I have it."

"You'll lose it," Killian tells her defiantly. "You'll lose everything. Emma will defeat you. And then all you'll be is a footnote in history - even the suffering you caused will be washed away by the world righting itself once again."

"You love her, of course you'd like to think so," Regina shrugs offhandedly. "But you don't understand something crucial, Hook. Love is weakness. And power, well," her hand curls around the back of the throne a she turns to face him once more - his heart still in her unforgiving grip. "Speaks for itself, doesn't it?"

She waves the hand that was on the throne and his chains are gone. He doesn't waste any time lunging for her and trying to retrieve his heart, but before he can -

"Stop," Regina commands immediately. Against his wishes, his body complies.

He'd nearly forgotten how chilling it was to have your body ignore your head in favor of following the orders of another. There's not a feeling more paralyzing than knowing his own limbs can't listen to him.

"Now," Regina says. "When Emma Swan finds you, you're going to kill her."

-/-

 **A/N: This was...emotional to write to say the least. The idea for the nightmare cell harkens back to my original inspiration for the fic, Legend of the Seeker. It's a twist on the Valley of Perdition episode, except instead of a valley...a cell. Groundbreaking, I know.**

 **Some of the fighting sequence between Killian and Emma in said nightmare was definitely written with BTVS' Becoming Part 2 in mind. It is lots of swordfighting angst. To be fair, OUAT did the homage first to that scene, I just went a little earlier. Same result - sword through lover to save the world. Granted, the fighting was more BP2 than the death, so it went earlier in the scene OUAT homaged, but credit where credit is due. I've been on a rewatch binge when preparing to write Maximum Angst, anyways. OUAT did it first. Not me. I'm just following their lead.**

 **Any part of the dream sequence that didn't make sense (the rushed nature of it - kinda choppy and flickering from horror to horror and kind of having holes) was me trying to be nightmare-y while still having an element of worry that it's real for readers (though I've been writing half Killian POV this whole time, I think if he was working for Regina and wanting Emma dead I'd include that somewhere). Dreams don't really make sense to people who aren't dreaming. I just wanted to strip Emma of everything that makes her 'strong' - her magic, her support system, her future - and still have her fight back and 'win'. Even if winning is miserable.**

 **I don't usually do endnotes - just wanted to make sure I credited some inspiration properly! Stealing Buffy quotes seems a little too Cassie Clare for me. Thank you for reading and I'd love if you leave feedback! If you yell at me enough there's a chance we can get Killian that heart back, right?**


	22. Power Pt 1

**A/N: Hey! Happy Wednesday! This is the third to last chapter of this fic and I have to say, I'm super excited. Two more chapters! Only 2! That's so wild to me. This chapter is definitely one of the most action-y I've ever written (about to be beat by the next chapter, I'm sure) and I'm anxious to see how you guys feel about it. I hope you like it! Thank you guys so much for reading and sticking with me throughout this entire, longwinded journey. I hope you feel like it pays off!**

-/-

Emma doesn't get more than twenty feet out of the cell before she hears footsteps in the hallway. She curses silently, ducking behind the nearest pillar in an effort to hide herself. She's unarmed, magicless, and defenseless. If a guard is there, she might have to catch them by surprise with just her fists. Luckily, she only hears one set of footsteps. And if she elbows him in the face, he won't have time to draw his weapon.

When Emma hears someone still beside the pillar she's hiding behind, Emma doesn't waste any time. She decides to go for the ankles first, she's not sure how tall her assailant is and where their head would be, and gives the guy a firm kick before immediately going for the sword in his belt. The man doubles over almost immediately, hissing in pain as she takes hold of the sword.

It's _her_ sword. She frowns in confusion.

"Ow!" the man - Merlin, she realizes a little too late - whisper-shouts in an attempt to keep the sound muffled. He cups his shin delicately, rolling up his pants and revealing a developing bruise. "This how you treat all of your rescuers?"

The greatest and oldest wizard around, beat by a blind kick. Emma grimaces sympathetically, tucking her sword in her belt and bending over to meet his eyes. "Sorry. This isn't another weird nightmare thing, is it?"

Merlin just stands back up slowly, raising his eyebrows at her. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not," Emma grants. "Where's Killian?"

"We should run," Merlin says immediately in response, worrying her. "It'll only be a matter of time before the queen notices your absence."

"You're avoiding answering me - where's Killian?" Emma's voice grows firm.

"Let's get out of here first," Merlin advises, guiding her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. Emma reluctantly allows him to lead her out. "Then we can discuss, alright? Why aren't you in a cell?"

"Long story - one I'll trade for you telling me what the hell is happening with Killian," Emma grumbles as he opens the door to the stairwell. She doesn't remember the stairs from her nightmare, which probably should have been the first sign that something was wrong in that hellish cell universe. She makes her way up with Merlin right behind her, careful to make her steps quick and light. Once they're back upstairs to the main floor of the castle, Merlin points her towards a hallway that she's guessing he got here through.

Pressing him further for information could draw attention to them, the last thing she needs to do is make noise, but Merlin's deflection of what's happened to Killian is making her concerned. She just lost Killian in a nightmare. Emma can't repeat that experience again. But it's going to have to wait until she can talk without risking their lives and alerting Regina to their presence.

Once they're out the door of the palace, Merlin sends them to an isolated forest with a cloud of magical smoke.

"Where the hell is he?" Emma presses immediately, turning to face him. "Please tell me we _did_ not just leave him there."

Merlin looks somber. It doesn't soothe her in the slightest. "I followed his wishes."

She feels rage flare up in her at his words. "And what, you just went along with the martyrdom? _Seriously_?"

"This feels familiar," Merlin replies wryly, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "You do understand that he just gave me this exact speech this morning, correct?"

"I'm not leaving him behind," Emma says vehemently. "That is non-negotiable. We're getting him out of there. Let me guess - he made himself the distraction so she'd pay attention to him and not me?"

Merlin doesn't even miss a beat. "I had the feeling you'd say as much. He did the same when it was you captured and, yes, he suggested making himself a distraction. He hardly let me argue and getting you out first was more important. In retrospect, I wish I'd argued with you before you left because clearly prophecy was too vague about what the best course of action would be."

"You're just realizing the fortune-telling is vague _now_?" Emma asks rhetorically, anxiety at what Killian could be going through building in her. "Obviously prophecy doesn't know anything or I wouldn't have ended up in a freaky nightmare cell with no powers."

"Freaky nightmare cell?" Merlin repeats, perplexed.

"Her guards tossed me in after she gave some grand villain speech, I passed out. I had a really, really vivid dream where everyone was dead or dying and Killian was secretly evil and tried to kill me so I had to kill him instead," Emma summarizes candidly. "It sucked."

"The Cell of Desolation," Merlin furrows his brow, his voice horrified. "How did you-"

"Great. I guess it gets a dramatic name and everything. I think I'll stick to Freaky Nightmare Cell."

"Regina created it from the darkest of magic, Emma. No one has ever survived it before," Merlin says, his voice incredulous. "You did. You beat it. I didn't believe such a thing was possible. How did she even get you inside of it without you using your magic to stop her?"

Emma holds up her wrists. "I thought these were friendly, benign beanstalk climbing leather cuffs. Apparently, they are not-so-friendly, magic constraining and beanstalk climbing leather cuffs. They were in my bag. It's how we were able to get the compass. Apparently, only someone else can take them off. So, I will nicely ask that you do before I drag Killian out of that damn castle myself."

"We'll need to come up with something with a bit more finesse than that," Merlin retorts, but slides his hands to undo the cuffs just the same. "Should I put these in a fire or something suitable so this can't happen again? How did she get them from you and put them on in the first place?"

"She has no concept of personal property. We should keep these," Emma comments, rubbing at her wrists and nodding towards the cuffs in his hands. "If they work on me, I can't see why they wouldn't on Regina."

"Good idea," he says, tucking them into his bag and handing it to her. Her satchel must still be in the village somewhere. She takes it with a grateful nod, digging into it to find a water canteen and taking greedy gulps. Her throat feels like sandpaper.

"Speaking of ideas, we need one before Regina thinks of more creative forms of torture for Killian. And a plan. We need a plan," Emma replies, swallowing and not missing a beat. "Preferably one better than my old one which was...magic and hope for the best. That, _obviously_ , did not go well."

"She cheated. With your magic, you'll be able to take her on. Even without it, you managed to survive her," Merlin contests. "With Regina, merely living is winning. Even with my magic and as an ageless wizard, I was hardly able to fight her off enough to escape her. I was protecting a camp before I found Elsa and then you - I disarmed the guards before Regina came and nearly killed me. I saved the people by just transporting them elsewhere, but I couldn't do more than just survive with magic I've honed for over a thousand years."

"And you expect me - someone with one day of actual training - to be able to defeat her?" Emma raises her eyebrows skeptically. "You sure about that?"

"Well, according to-"

"If you say prophecy one more time, my head may actually explode," Emma sighs in exasperation. "Now, how are we going to get Killian out? I don't think she'll fall for the distraction again."

"Well, prophecy or not, I've seen your power. I believe you have enough of it to hold your own, though I certainly wish we had more time to train. As for the castle, I'm willing to bet she's summoning more guards," Merlin sighs, running his hand over his head. "If you want Killian to get out of this alive...I think you may have to take her on yourself. Your magic against hers. A final battle, if you will."

"That sounds…" Emma exhales slowly, "final."

"If there's anyone who can defeat her," Merlin sets his hand on her shoulder, meeting her eyes with a small nod. "It's you, Emma."

She gives him a tight smile. "That's an awful lot of faith you're putting into a novice."

"You're not an amateur. You're the Savior."

"The Savior with no idea how to save," Emma retorts. "That's kind of problematic. So, what, I go in there and start trying to use magic against her? Weren't you the one arguing for finesse?"

"I'm unfortunately without a better plan," Merlin admits. "But I'll help in any way I can. There's a bit of squid ink that we could use..."

"I'm more of an improvising girl, myself," Emma admits. "So what, we'll fight our way in? Did your visions tell you how we'd be able to rescue the pirate in distress and defeat the queen once and for all?"

"I'm afraid they aren't that descriptive," Merlin sighs, looking down to his shoes. "We'll need to think of something."

-/-

The temptation is evidently too great for Regina to avoid torturing Killian using other means. It's not enough _just_ to control his every action, see. The queen uses her magic to leave deep welts on every inch of skin she can. It feels something like a sword slicing through him that's been dipped in molten metal. That, somehow, is easier to bear than the thought of what she'll have him do next. Killian has experienced pain and suffering enough times in his life. He had his hand cut off by a crazed Dark One and promptly cauterized by an incompetent cook.

But, like now, the thought of his love's death overpowered the excruciating pain.

"C'mon," the queen goads, sending another slice of pain through him. He's fairly sure the force of this one broke more ribs. Killian bites back a groan of pain, arching against the wall of the throne room he's still chained to. He's sure Regina won't mind the bloodstains. "Don't you just want to kill her, by now? Even if I didn't command you, she's the one that left you like this. Tortured. Miserable. You even can make her death quick, if you want, a lover's hand is much more generous than mine would-"

"Shut," Killian hisses through his teeth, "up."

Regina is still holding his heart with the hand she's not torturing him with. She squeezes it, pointedly. "Show some respect."

He has another retort ready on his bloodied lips, but it won't leave. Orders are orders, after all. Killian shakes in his bonds, another wave of pain coursing through him.

Regina sighs, looking bored. "Maybe this was more fun when you were talking. I think I've done enough. She's going to come for you, I'm not stupid. All people have weaknesses and you're hers. Her taste leaves much to be desired, but I suppose it's easy enough to take advantage of."

Killian just stares back at her, stonefaced.

Regina's hand comes up to her chin contemplatively. "Mm. Definitely more fun with the talking, but I can make this work. Can you say _'long live the Evil Queen'_?"

"Long live the Evil Queen," Killian repeats, the words coming out through clenched teeth.

"You can do better than that," Regina mocks, fingers digging into his heart. "Try again with more enthusiasm."

"Long live the Evil Queen."

This one seems to be to her satisfaction. Regina grins, pleased, and continues on. "That's more like it. You're going to be the perfect victim for the Savior to try to save. Bloodied and bruised and broken, she won't suspect a thing when she finds you. And you're going to kill her when she does."

Killian wishes, more and more, that Regina had just killed him.

"Repeat what I've just told you - you're going to kill the Savior for your queen."

"I'm going to kill the Savior for my queen."

Regina lets out a loud, unashamed laugh of victory.

-/-

They end up going the improvising route, left without a better alternative. Merlin gets them back to the castle's grounds, this time on the other side of it from where they left. They only take a few steps before Emma's foot catches a piece of paper. Confused, Emma bends over to pick it up while Merlin stills beside her.

"What's that?"

"It's a map," Emma realizes with a frown, eyes narrowing on it. "Looks like something Killian would make."

Merlin looks to her quizzically. "It does?"

She holds it closer to her, studying the parchment. "I think Killian _did_ make this, I recognize this handwriting anywhere."

"Don't suppose it fell out of his pocket, did it? It's possible Regina used magic to mimic his style, but I don't know why she'd leave a map like this," Merlin asks, craning his head to look at it. "It looks like it's of the castle and its grounds. Do you see that -"

"X?" Emma finishes, her lips pursed. It's located on the other side of the castle, on a patch of land that only looked to be grass when she passed it on her way in. "Yeah. And Killian doesn't keep maps in his pocket."

"It's how pirates mark their treasure, isn't it? The X?"

Emma's heart sinks to her stomach. That can't be good. "If she did anything to him…"

"Turn it over," Merlin encourages instead of entertaining that particular thought. Emma does, her mouth parting in surprise as she sees what's written.

"Do you want the pirate or do you want me?" Emma reads the words on the paper aloud. "Pick one, Savior."

She already knows what that choice is going to be. It could be a trap. But she has to go anyway, if there's a chance he's there and Emma can get him out she won't risk it. Her eyes flit to Merlin, who nods at her. He reaches into his pocket, handing the compass over to her. "Go. I'll hold her off for you. I should be able to trap her inside the castle."

Her fingers close over the metal object. Killian must have given it to him. It'll guide her to what she desires the most - it must have led him to her and she's sure it'll lead her to him. "Are you sure?"

"I'm not the oldest wizard around for nothing. That amount of darkness isn't something I can defeat, but it's something I can hold back if I use all of the energy I have. I couldn't defeat it for Nimue. But I'll fight with everything I have now and make up for what I failed to do before," Merlin tells her. She's certain the words are more for him than for her - she has no idea who Nimue even is - but she accepts them readily.

Emma squeezes his arm gratefully. "Thank you. I'll be back soon."

"Make it quick," Merlin advises. "I can only do one thing at a time. If she's sending more guards, as I suspect she is right this instant, it won't be easy to contain her and fight alone."

"You won't," she promises.

"I'm counting on it."

-/-

The queen deposits him somewhere near her castle's grounds once she's finished with her torture, splaying him out on the grass as if he was a new treasured trophy. She doesn't bother with cells. It's not as if she needs to. Killian does not have any control. Regina has all of it. She rummaged in his satchel, finding a few of his maps that were evidently of interest to her. He's surprised she ignored the journal instead of using some of his logs to taunt him.

He supposes controlling his heart is satisfaction enough for her. Killian stands up on shaking legs, taking in the scene around him.

Killian is absurdly grateful that he didn't have the compass when Regina found him. There's no telling what Regina would do with it if she got her hands on it, considering her greatest desire is Emma's slow and painful death. At least this way he won't be forced to hunt Emma down, act as if he's escaped and give her a few reassuring and quite literally forced smiles as he brings his sword through her back.

He pictures it, for a moment, Emma's face crumpling as the edge of his blade goes through her. Emma collapsing in his arms as he looks at her in horror, clutching her to him and rocking back and forth with her in his arms as he begs for her to stay with him and then begs for her to come back. Killian winces at the thought, pained at even imagining the scene.

Killian will let himself die before he kills her, that much he knows.

Regina may control his body, but she will never be able to control his thoughts. It's a different sort of torture - deeper than the lacerations on his body and the rawness of his skin - to have your thoughts in contradiction with your movements. He clenches his eyes shut, trying to drive out the visions of Emma dying in his arms by his blade or his hook. As much as his body wants to do it, he won't let that happen. Killian can't let that happen.

Emma is away from this cursed place now. Merlin made sure of that. He just dearly hopes that she won't come back

"Killian!" a voice - _her_ voice - exclaims, and when he lifts himself up on the grass Emma is running towards him. He takes a reflexive step back, horrified, but Regina's firm grip on his heart and constant surveillance doesn't let him get very far. In any other circumstance, he'd be elated to see her.

Now, she could be signing her own death warrant. She has horrific timing.

' _Leave!'_ he wants to scream, _'Get as far away from her as possible - kill me, knock me out, tie me up, do whatever you bloody need to if it means ensuring that you get out of here alive.'_

Not a word of it passes his mouth.

Emma falls to her knees beside him, her expression relieved and concerned all at once. She sidles up until she can pull him into her arms, her head resting on his shoulder. Killian lets out a shuddering breath, burrowing his head in her hair. He wishes it could be a joyful reunion, that he could tell her how much he missed her and how he never wanted to experience the fear of losing her again.

Now, he could be her executioner.

"Killian," she says again, nearly crying with thankfulness he wishes he could feel. "I had to come back to save you. I'm so glad you're alive. I found the map and I thought for a second - I'm just happy you're okay."

Regina must have done something with the damn maps.

"I'm parched," Killian rasps, for reasons he doesn't understand quite yet. His head is commanding for him to run away, for him to shout at her to leave his side immediately, but Regina's commands can't be overridden no matter how hard he tries. "Don't suppose you have any water, do you love?"

Regina wants him to get into Emma's satchel and find leather cuffs, the ones he vaguely remembers from the beanstalk. When he finds them, he's to put them on her wrists. It will incapacitate her magic and leave her helpless and him free to kill her.

He feels sick.

"Let me heal you first," Emma frowns, carefully brushing the hair out of his face as she takes note of his injuries. He wants to lean into her touch on instinct, but he needs to shirk away from it and run and never look back. Killian does neither, sitting passively as Regina wants him to. "Healing, then water. Okay? It'll be hard for you to drink with a split lip."

"Emma, love, just let me-"

Killian moves to stand, wincing as he does so. If he's beaten like this it'll be much easier for Emma to overpower him, magic or no magic. Once she realizes what he's done - she must know what the cuffs do, he's willing to gamble Regina used them before if she wants them used now - Emma will know that he's not to be trusted and deal with him accordingly. It will be much harder for his body to obey Regina's commands if it's not in the condition to do it.

Emma shushes him gently as she guides him back down to the ground by tugging his hand in hers, her expression as warm and loving as he can remember it. He wants to sob, but it catches in his throat without permission to leave. He winces when his knees meet the grass. Emma frowns, her face sympathetic.

The last thing she should be doing right now is feeling sympathy for him. He has as much ready on his lips, but Regina stops this too.

Emma gently waves her hand over him with a practiced ease, this attempt at healing much better than any of her previous. Killian feels much better and much worse - he'd be proud if he wasn't so distraught. Emma smiles, the sight brilliant and beautiful, as she cups his newly healed face with her hands.

"Things are about to get crazy, but I wanted to say this before I lost the chance to," she murmurs, her voice light. Regina's interest must be piqued, she prevents him from moving an inch. Emma's thumb runs along his cheek, her expression nearly reverent. "I love you, Killian."

Killian feels like he's been run through with a sword. He tries shaking his head, tries asking her why she had to say it now - of all times - the words he's been longing to hear for so long and the words he never hoped would be said to him again, he tries begging her to leave just because of how much he loves her. Instead, he's still in place. He doesn't utter a word.

"I love you," she repeats, her fingers tightening on his neck. "I'm sorry I couldn't say it sooner. I just…" she leans back to meet his eyes, her own shining with unshed tears. Killian feels the same mirrored in his eyes. "Regina, she put me in a cell. I couldn't use magic - I'll explain it all later. It put me in a nightmare. I had to kill you. I watched you _die._ "

"Swan," Killian rasps, pained. "Swan, please-"

He breaks out of Regina's grasp enough to say the words and they burn in his throat, a plea that's cut off by a squeeze of his heart and Emma shaking her head. He needs her to kill him like she did in her nightmare, put a sword through him to end his suffering.

"Just let me get this out, okay?" she begs, tears spilling down her face. He wants to cry himself. Killian wants to push her as far away as possible, doesn't want to see her cry when he dies and doesn't want to see the betrayal in her eyes when he kills her. "You know I'm not good at this, saying how I feel. Not like you are. But I just need you to know I can't do this without you. You're my strength in this."

She can, she can, she has to. Emma is stronger than him, stronger than her circumstances, stronger than whatever is thrown in her way - including the Evil Queen herself. She has to fight without him. She has to go on without him.

Regina has an impeccable sense of timing. His hand goes around her back as if to embrace her and when he kisses her his hand retrieves the cuffs from her satchel. Emma closes her eyes, lips moving against his passionately while he reciprocates just enough not to draw her suspicions. He fixes one cuff around her wrist when her eyes are closed, then the other one when her eyes open in alarm.

His hands shake violently when he's done. Emma stares at the cuffs, then him in shock as she retracts her hands away from him. "I'm so, so sorry love," he apologizes desperately, something Regina seems to allow for the sake of their suffering, "I'm so sorry."

"What the hell did you just do?" she asks in disbelief. "You have to take these off, Killian. I don't know why you just-"

Killian lifts his hand from his side as if to do take them off, moving in the direction of her wrist before his arm jerks back. Regina pulls it back before he can free her, before he can let her with the the warning of what he's capable of.

"Your heart," Emma says in grim realization, her brows pinching together. There's understanding in her voice, much more than he's owed. She should be running. Emma should be getting as far away from him as possible. She knows he can't be trusted. Still, Emma stays. "She has your heart, doesn't she? Regina is controlling you."

Killian's expression is one of pure anguish, "Remember what I told you before. When we met. What I told you I would have wanted if something like this happened to me."

Regina stops his speaking before he can get much more into detail, but by the crestfallen expression on Emma's face he knows she's picked up on it. Emma needs to kill him. He'd rather be dead than controlled, especially when the price is her life.

"Killian," she insists, plaintively and painfully, her hand coming up to the side of his face. "This isn't you. Please, listen to me."

"I'm sorry," he says again, voice dripping with self loathing. Killian tries to stop his hand from reaching for his sword and the slow, excruciating way he does it gives Emma enough warning to retreat from him and take hold of her own. "I'm trying, but I can't."

Killian swipes his sword towards her, his arm willing to follow commands of the queen even if his mind isn't. Emma quickly blocks it, "I won't kill you."

He puts more force behind the sword, pressing her own towards her with his. Emma holds her own, pushing back just as heavily. "You have to let me go," he pleads, desperate. "Please. Just let me go."

Emma spins around - a move he knows for a fact he's taught her - and Killian catches her blade with his just as soon as it clashes. She's aiming lower, not towards his heart. Regina is going for lethal. Emma has to do the same if she wants a chance at winning. "I killed you once, Killian. I can't do it again. Please, just fight it. I love you. I believe in you. You have to fight this."

She kicks him back when he moves his sword again. He's proud of her for winding him, but she's going to need to do more than that. Killian _needs_ her to do more than that. Killian lunges once again and Emma just barely steps back in time.

"Please," he begs, "just end it, love. You have to. I won't hurt you."

"I don't want to lose you," Emma rasps, sword steady in front of her as she carefully takes yet another step back.

"And I don't want to lose you," he echoes desperately, tears stinging in his eyes. Regina must be satisfied just controlling his body, she doesn't seem to mind what he says. "I love you, Emma. You have to let me go."

Contradicting his words, he steps forward to swing his sword at her. Emma meets it with hers, forming an 'X' with their blades. "I love you too," she gasps out, lower lip wavering. Her grip on her sword remains as strong as ever, much to his relief. "I can't…"

"You can and you will," Killian tells her, desperately trying to reassure her. He pulls his sword back and she meets it once again. "Please, Emma, listen to me. You're the Savior. People need you."

" _I_ need you," Emma emphasizes, pain clear in her voice. "I can't - what about our future? We said after all of this was over we'd have one. We were supposed to have _time_ to get that future together."

"I'll be happy just knowing you have one," Killian says, a tremulous smile on his lips. "Please, love. Do this for me."

With a hard knock of her sword against his, she disarms him. Killian's sword lands somewhere in the dirt.

"Now," he begs, every muscle in his body protesting as he tries to resist Regina's commands to retrieve the sword and finish her. Killian won't be able to do it much longer. "Please, love. Do it now."

Emma pulls her sword back, the blade shaking and her eyes filled with tears. It's the last thing Killian sees before the world goes black.

-/-

Emma can only stare at him in shock as he falls, horrified by the sight. She casts her eyes down to her sword, pristine as ever, and the arrow that just shot him. She falls to her knees immediately, pressing her hand to his chest and gasping out her relief when she feels it rising and falling. The arrow isn't through his heart, it just barely grazed his side, and Emma immediately turns her head around the clearing in search for the source.

Regina wanted to kill her while controlling Killian. It makes no sense that she'd hire an archer to take him out or that just a grazing of an arrow would make Killian collapse unconscious. Emma narrows her eyes as she slowly rises on her feet, just finding a dot amongst the tree. She finds herself wishing dearly she had a shield or something for if the archer decides they want to send more arrows her way. Her eyes flash contemplatively to Merlin's satchel, considering holding it up to her chest or head. It won't stop an arrow with that much momentum entirely, but maybe it can slow it down enough to save her life.

The dot keeps getting closer and closer, a cloaked figure becoming more and more visible. Emma tightens her grip on her sword, eyes flashing carefully to Killian, as she walks towards it. The bow is at their side as they run, facing down, so they must not want to kill her. None of it makes any sense.

"Who are you?" Emma calls, baffled. "What do you want?"

"I'm not here to hurt you," the archer replies, just feet from her when she says the words and stops in place. The voice sounds familiar and feminine, but not familiar enough that she's able to place it. Emma has met so many people over the course of their quest, it's hard to decipher who is who based on voice and build alone.

"That'd be easier to believe if I knew who the hell you were,' Emma retorts, eyeing the cloaked figure skeptically. She can't even see her face. "You wanna pull your hood down? Or did you just want to shoot me close range?"

The archer tugs their hood down. Emma's eyes widen.

"Sorry," Snow White says, wincing sympathetically. "Not exactly the introduction I wanted, but I guess we didn't get that before, either."

Her mother is standing in front of her. Emma clasps her hand over her mouth. "You're…"

Snow gives her a soft smile when she drops her bow. "I wasn't sure if you knew, afterwards, but Elsa…" she trails off uncertainly. "Believe me, if I knew who you were before our conversation would be much different, to say the least. And I'm sorry for shooting Killian, but Merlin told me - well, he had one of those wizard visions that the queen hijacked him so he sent me to take care of it. It's just a sleeping spell. Not the curse kind, I swear. I know from experience how awful those are. I was under a sleeping curse once, you know, before you were born. And now I can't stop talking but I feel like," she inhales deeply, catching her breath. Emma hangs onto every word, frozen. "There's so much to say."

Emma just nods dumbly at her, at loss for any other way to react. The fact that Merlin has apparently recruited her mother in the last twenty minutes since she's seen him is going right over her head in the shock.

"One second you were here with us, in the nursery that we built," Snow's voice grows emotional, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. Emma feels tears on her own face and hastily wipes them away. "And the next Regina's knights attacked the castle and Blue told us she'd sent you away. A week later, Regina managed to drag us away from the castle. We'd be dead if not for…gods, it's so much. And no words can make up for us leaving you."

"I…" Emma opens her mouth, unsure of what to say. "I understand why you had to. I didn't, before. But I do now."

Snow surprises her; her arms going around Emma's shoulders. Emma stiffens at first, uncertain of how to react, but gently folds her arms around her mother. Snow just holds her tighter. "Not a day went by where we didn't think about you. We worried every second of every day. The king and queen hid us in Arendelle, for a while, but you were still in Misthaven and we knew Regina wanted the Savior dead. But now you're alive. You're amazing. You're everything we ever could dream you to be and we're so, so proud of you."

It's all she ever wanted to hear her say. Emma lets out a choked sob, her lips pressing together to prevent the noise from leaving her. She has to stay composed - if Merlin somehow managed to get her parents for help it means all hell is breaking loose - for the sake of her life and everyone else's. Emma can't give Snow an actual reply, she doesn't have the words or the time to search for them, but she gives her what she hopes is an understanding nod.

"Okay. So, what the hell is going on over there?" Emma motions towards the castle in the distance. "Merlin got you here?"

"We summoned him at a very bad time," Snow admits, grimacing. "We came back to the kingdom and got to the camp with Red when heard that the queen got her hands on you, Elsa told us she advised you to find Merlin. We summoned him to the camp and he was very...stressed by our timing. We came back with him - David, Mulan, Lancelot, Guinevere, and Red are fighting guards while Merlin works on keeping Regina trapped inside."

Apparently, everyone beside her knew that to summon Merlin you just needed to say his name thrice. Elsa really could have included that. The sudden cast of characters is a surprise, too, but Emma remembers Merlin warning a lot of guards would be coming. And if he needed to make up for a few minutes of lost time in a separate camp, it made sense that he'd... _poof_ back reinforcements.

"It sounds like a battle," Emma comments.

"Well, it is," Snow tells her, voice frank. It softens as she continues. "But if there's anyone that can win it, it's you."

"That's a lot of faith to put into someone you officially met five minutes ago," Emma replies, frowning. "But I guess there's a lot of that going around."

"I've known you for twenty eight years, Emma," Snow corrects readily. "And I've heard enough. Seen enough, even. You were ready to kill the man you love to save the world, that tells me a lot about who you are."

She bites her lip, considering Snow's words. Emma is ready to sacrifice even more, if that's what it takes. And it looks like whatever is going to happen, it's happening now. Or very, very soon.

"Speaking of and before we go," Emma motions back to where Killian is lying prone on the ground. She walks over to his side and Snow follows. "Regina will kill him if we leave him behind. We have to find a way to hide him."

"Regina is still trapped and the guards are kind of preoccupied with the rest of us," Snow tells her, bending over to carefully pull her arrow from Killian's side. Emma winces sympathetically, but he doesn't so much as twitch. She waves her hand over the wound to heal the skin, at least wanting to do _something,_ but her magic is still incapacitated by the cuffs. "The sleeping spell will only work for around an hour. Which will give us enough time to get in."

Emma holds out her wrists to Snow as her mother moves to stand. "First, we'll need to get these off. You should keep them. I'm tired of Regina somehow getting her hands on them and using them on me."

"Why not just get rid of them, burn them?" Snow suggests, complying and removing the leather from her wrists. "It's too dangerous to risk you being powerless like this."

"Well," Emma shrugs. "Cuffs that prevent someone from using magic seems a little too good to pass up on having when there's an evil sorceress who keeps using magic to try to kill you."

"Makes sense," Snow grants, nodding as Emma waves her hand over Killian to heal the puncture wound the arrow left on him.

She'll come back for him. Regina is still stuck inside the castle and so long as she has his heart there's nothing else she could want from him. Emma just has to hang onto hope that she won't crush it. Given that it's still something Regina can hold over Emma's head, she has to assume she won't.

"We should get back. David said he'd meet us in the forest on the way back to the entrance of the castle. Guards can't see us from that route."

"David," Emma repeats. "That's…"

"Your father," Snow finishes, her voice knowing. "Yeah. David stayed back a little bit to help with the guard situation, but he wanted to meet you as soon as possible. He's jealous I got to meet you first, before. But he was the last one of us to get to see you when you were a baby, so I think it was a fair tradeoff."

Emma's breath catches at the thought, still having difficulty taking in that she's talking to the mother she assumed abandoned her and that she's about to meet her father. Between this, the situation with Killian. and the fact that Merlin used the words 'final battle' to describe what she has to do - the day has been a lot to digest. She wonders how David will compare to the man in her nightmare.

Hopefully, he'll be a lot less dead.

"You'll like him," Snow says immediately, taking note of Emma's silence. "He's a hard man not to like. Take it from me. You already remind me of him."

Emma doesn't know what to do with that. "Good to know."

-/-

They walk back through the forest, heading in the direction Snow came. She hates the idea of leaving Killian behind, but he needs to get his heart back. And she made a promise to Merlin that she wouldn't leave him alone in this fight. Granted, he's not, thanks to her parents' horrible timing, but she imagines the apparent influx of guards would be a lot easier to defeat with magic.

And apparently, it's allowing Emma the actual chance to talk to her mother. As awkward as it is.

"So," Snow prompts, walking beside Emma with her bow in her hand and her arrows still slung around her back. Emma wonders if they all have a sleeping spell or if that one was just special. "How have you...how have you been dealing with all of it?"

By all of it, she guesses Snow means Emma's newfound saviordom. Emma shrugs, "I don't know, it's kind of just been one thing after another. Never a dull moment, since Red found me and told me what the deal was."

Snow nods in understanding. "I can imagine. It's sort of how it felt when I was on the run from Regina, the focus was more on staying alive than anything else. Then I met David and things,,,changed for me. For the better. He gave me the strength to fight back - I was alone for so long that I think it got hard to."

Her words strike an obvious chord with Emma. "Yeah," she says, "I think I get that."

They walk in silence for a few moments.

"So," Emma prompts, turning her head to look at Snow. "Are all of the arrows spelled or just the one?"

"Just the one - I had to think quick and I asked Merlin to help me out," Snow explains, lifting her bow a little as an explanation. "He told me about the visions, how Regina had your partner's heart and that put you at risk. I assumed you wouldn't want me to kill him, just incapacitate him, so I asked Merlin to take a break from keeping Regina restrained just for a second to spell an arrow. Then, Regina almost got out of the castle and he had to go right back to pushing her back."

"Only one?" Emma raises her eyebrows, admittedly impressed. "How did you know you wouldn't miss."

Snow smiles confidently. "I never need more than one."

Emma mirrors her smile with one of her own, recognizing something of herself in the woman beside her. "Good to know."

Before she can say anything more and press Snow about her experiences, Snow lets out a sound of surprise and Emma feels herself being suddenly embraced.

"Oh!" Emma exclaims, taken aback. Her hand goes to her belt and reaches for her sword until she realizes who the stranger hugging her must be.

The man - she's guessing, _hoping_ is David - pulls back immediately with a wince. "Sorry. I just saw you and, well, the last time I did you were a baby and I just...I don't know what came over me. We're kind of big huggers in this family."

A family she hasn't been a part of for the past - well, the past _all_ of her life. But that absence has seemed to affect them as much as it had her. "It's okay," she reassures him. "I was just kind of surprised. It's nice to…" Emma searches for the right words for a moment. She can see the anticipation in David's eyes. "Meet you?"

David gives her a small smile. "It's nice to meet you too, Emma."

He holds out his hand. Emma takes it, shaking it with a small smile of her own. He doesn't look exactly like he did in her dream - his facial structure is different and for some reason she thought his eyes would be green and his hair would as light as hers is. It's a much darker blond and his eyes are lighter than she envisioned. It's weird, comparing what she expected and what her reality is.

But given her expectations were tied to their deaths in a nightmare universe, Emma can't find it within herself to be too torn up about it. He's not dead and that's what counts. The corners of her lips stay upturned. "I wish we got to meet sooner," she says, releasing his hand.

"As in when you met Snow or in general?" David asks without missing a beat. He's less guarded than Snow, less concerned with making his words soft. He's honest, but there's a frankness there that Emma has to respect. She'd rather someone be upfront with her than try to edge around her.

"In general," Emma answers. "But you knew that."

"Yeah, I did. And I feel the same way," his expression is understanding, his tone matter-of-fact. "You have no idea how much we wished we could have kept you. The next time I see the Blue Fairy, I might-"

"David," Snow scolds, but there's more agreement in her tone than chastisement.

"What she did qualifies as kidnapping, to me."

"It's okay," Emma says. And for once, it feels like it is. "Really. I get it."

She does. Leaving Henry behind, the kid she wanted more than anything to stick around with for the sake of his safety made her understand what her parents did. The situations weren't the same, but they were comparable enough that she can look at it with much different eyes than her burnt, abandoned, past counterpart did.

"There aren't enough apologies in the world," Snow says, her voice sincere. David nods, walking to his wife's side and intertwining his hand with the one of hers that isn't holding her bow.

"They aren't needed," Emma replies. "Seriously. They're not. What we need right now is to get back to Merlin and figure out what we have to do next. And get Killian's heart back before he wakes up and everything," she lets out a heavy sigh, "botches itself even further."

"Did you get him with the arrow?" David asks, directing his words towards his wife.

Snow nods. "Yes. He should be out for a little while longer."

"How are we going to get it back before she makes her next move?" David asks, puzzled.

"That's one of the current dilemmas," Emma says with a wince. "It's not as if we can sneak into the castle and take it back. We'd have to get Regina before we got the heart."

"Wait! I have an idea!" Snow exclaims suddenly, eyes bright as she turns to Emma. "Try summoning it with your magic."

Emma raises her eyebrows at the suggestion. "I doubt that it's that easy."

"When I was a girl I saw Regina summon things all of the time," Snow contests, keeping up her pace at Emma's side. David listens in on the conversation, hand hovering over his sword and eyes skimming the trees. "That was before she even mastered dark magic. I don't see why that couldn't apply to a heart."

"What if it's being…" Emma makes a claw-like motion with her hand, struggling to explain her thoughts, "gripped by another magic user? How does that work?"

"Well," David shrugs, as if suggestions of magically summoning stolen hearts are just another part of his daily life. "I guess you'll never know if you don't try."

Emma considers the words and stills to a stop. Her parents do the same, looking at her expectantly.

She, a little self-consciously, cups her hands together in front of her. She was able to do it with the hook, at a much shorter distance. Merlin practiced it with her just with coins and whatever else they had on hand. The idea of doing it with a beating heart in Regina's castle that happens to belong to the man she's in love with is a little too much for her.

Still, she takes a deep breath to steady herself. Emma closes her eyes, trying to picture his heart in her hands. She thinks of hearing it beating at night, her ear pressed against Killian's skin when she used him as a pillow. When they fought and agreed to start working together, Killian let her point her sword at his heart and asked her if he was telling her the truth. After she got sick, Killian pressed her hand against his heart and begged her to let walls down for him.

"Look," Snow encourages beside her. Emma slowly opens her eyes.

" _Really_?" Emma asks, surprised. Killian's heart is literally in her hands, red and glowing and thumping. "A summoning spell? It was seriously that simple?"

"I don't think it would have been if it were still in his chest, but I guess when it's out…" Snow trails off, her eyes fixed to the organ Emma is holding. "Well, it worked, right?"

"Hope it's the right one. How many do you think Regina has stored in there?" David says, voice light. Snow elbows him with an exasperated, if almost amused, sigh. Emma can see where she gets her sense of humor from, at least. She almost made the same joke.

"Yeah, it'd be a little awkward if it wasn't," Emma admits, turning it over in her hands. She's careful not to drop it. It has a healthy, red glow to it. There are a few dark spots, residue from a long post of revenge and forced deeds, but it's...it feels like Killian. "I think it's his, though. Feels like his. I don't know, I just have a feeling."

"When Snow fell under the sleeping curse, I felt it," David explains easily. "I could feel something was wrong in my heart. I can't explain it, but I did."

"When you love someone, you know," Snow supplies, a small smile on her lips. "We should return this back to its owner. He should wake up in around half an hour, it should take about half as long just to get back there."

"Right," Emma says, frowning. His heart is still in her hands, beating steadily. It's odd - she's used to feeling it more in a _'her head on his chest'_ way instead of a _'seperated from his body'_ way. "We should get this back to him before the guards get him. Or before he wakes up not knowing what the hell is going on and wanders into a bad situation."

"I'll take care of it," David volunteers readily.

Snow and Emma both raise their eyebrows, surprised.

"What?" he asks defensively. David takes a small bag from his pocket, one that looks as if it used to hold coins. It seems just barely big enough to hold a heart. "You just put it in, right?"

"I don't exactly have experience with it," Emma grimaces, trying to envision how it would work. She's never seen a heart taken or a heart returned, but judging by what's in her hands it should be relatively bloodless.

"Emma, you need to find Merlin. And Snow, Emma needs you, I don't know this castle like you do. I'll meet you both back here with Emma's…" David trails off, as if searching for the right word. Emma presses her lips together, unsure of how to describe him herself. "Guy."

That would have to work. David holds the bag out for Emma to put it in. Emma lowers it in, carefully ensuring that it doesn't get dropped at any point of the transfer. She doesn't know how much it would hurt to have your heart dropped on the forest floor. Emma is sure she'll never _want_ to know. "You know what he looks like?"

"Big leather coat," Snow supplies. "A hook for a hand. You can't miss him."

"And he's on the other side of the castle in the way you just left from?" he asks, pointing in that direction. Both Emma and Snow nod.

"Be careful," Emma cautions.

David seems a bit surprised, if touched, by that. "You too. I don't want to just meet my daughter and lose her immediately after. There was too much of that in your childhood already."

Emma gives him a wry, sad smile. "I'll do my best."

Snow leans up to kiss her husband's cheek, embracing him fully and murmuring something in his ear Emma can't understand. Emma stands, a little awkwardly, next to them until David turns to her with his hand outstretched.

"See you soon," he promises.

Emma shocks even herself, bypassing his hand entirely and folding her arms around his neck to hug him. "Yeah," she agrees, standing up on her tiptoes so her head rests on his shoulder. David's hand comes up to the top of her head, slowly and gently returning the gesture with the lovingness she used to hope her father would when she was a little girl. She lets out a long breath, feeling it slowly leave her lungs as she leans back to meet his watery eyes. Hers aren't exactly dry, either. "Soon."

David raises the bag in his hands a bit. "I'll return this back to the owner and hopefully then the both of us can get back to help you."

He gives them one last parting wave before setting out, following their tracks to go to his destination. Emma feels a wave of relief, grateful that she at least has one less thing to worry about. Killian is safe - or he should be. At the very least, he won't be Regina's own personal puppet anymore.

-/-

Snow and Emma resume their walk forward, the only sound between them their feet crunching against the ground. Emma would ask Snow more questions if she didn't feel tension building in her as they get closer and closer to the front of the castle. There's a nervous twitch in her step and a labor in her breath. Something is final about this, something she can't even put her finger on.

Whatever it is, Emma can feel it in her gut. And whatever happens, it's happening soon.

She's spent months searching for a way to defeat Regina, but in the end it's just her. Her and a team of people willing to fight at her side, but only the Savior can take on Regina directly and have a chance at winning. Last round, she barely got out alive. This time around, she has to hope for a better result..

"I can hear you thinking, you know," Snow says, after about five minutes of Emma ruminating over what's to come.

"It's nothing," Emma says reflexively.

"C'mon," Snow tilts her head in a way that's gently chiding. It's motherly, even. "I'm a terrible liar, but I can spot lies in other people. If you are having any doubts, you can tell me. I won't judge you for it."

"I don't know what to do," Emma admits in a rush. "Or how I'm supposed to do it. It's all a little…"

"Much?" Snow finishes easily. "I understand."

"I mean, I've had months knowing what's going to happen, knowing what I have to do…" Emma frowns, anxiously speeding up her pace and folding her arms around herself. "But I still don't know anything."

"You will," Snow says, almost immediately. "I know you will."

Emma snorts. "What - do you get the same visions Merlin apparently does?"

"No. I just…" she pauses, seeming to consider her words. "I don't know why. I just know."

"So what, psychic _feelings_?"

"Let's just call it mother's intuition. Like I said, whether you remember it or not I've known you all your life. I believe in you, Emma."

Emma's breath catches. That, too, is still a lot to digest. But there's still a consolation in the fact that after all of her worrying, after all of those years of being alone her mother has faith in her.

"Thank you," Emma turns to her, stopping in her tracks and meeting Snow's eyes. "For being here."

"I'm just sorry I couldn't be here for you sooner," Snow replies easily.

-/-

When Killian wakes up, the first thing he feels is his head pounding. He has a nightmare of a headache threading through the base of his skull and the brightness that he can see even through closed eyelids isn't helping matters. He groans, his hand coming up to his forehead and pressing against it in an attempt to quell the throbbing.

"Headaches might be a side effect of sleeping spells," an unfamiliar voice says.

Killian immediately jumps to his feet, discomfort be damned, ready to defend himself against the stranger looming over him while he was unconscious. A blonde man who looks about twenty years his senior holds his hands up defensively and when Killian reaches for his sword at his belt, all he finds is air. He frowns, looking down at where his sword is discarded on the ground, but the man speaks before he can lunge for it.

"I'm here to give you your heart back," the man explains, gesturing to the bag in his hand. Killian can only gape. "Honestly, the idea of holding my daughter's lover's beating heart in my hand is pretty…crazy, but she needs-"

"Your daughter's lover's-" Killian repeats dubiously, expression perplexed before he realizes the impact of the man's words. It all comes rushing back to him. "Emma. Oh gods, _Emma_. Is she alright? Is she safe? Bloody hell, did I hurt her?"

"Yes, I hope so, and almost. She was fine the last I saw her, but she, my wife, Merlin, and the rest are currently storming Regina's castle," Prince Charming answers quickly. He lifts Killian's heart out of the bag carefully. "Which is why we're going to need to hurry. You want this thing, or what?"

Killian blinks, taking in the sudden burst of information. He's grateful that Emma is alive and presumably well, thankful beyond comprehension that he didn't kill her. Having his heart back after living his worst imaginings of having it controlled is a prospect that has him sighing with relief as well. Killian has about a dozen other questions including but not limited to how they prevented him from killing her (perhaps the aforementioned sleeping spell), how they retrieved his heart, how Emma's father discovered him.

All of them are going to have to wait.

"I would prefer it returned to me, yes."

Charming steps forward, a bit awkwardly. The furrow in his brow reminds him of the same expression Emma frequently wears when a situation becomes too bizarre even for her. "I've only seen Snow do this once,"

"Under what circumstances was that?"

"It's a long story," Charming mutters. "The important thing is that my heart is in my chest, now, and yours should be, too. Your chest, I mean. Not mine. I don't think I could fit two in the-"

"Get on with it, mate," Killian insists, widening his stance and quickly becoming impatient. "Your daughter is out there and becoming more in danger every second that we squabble like two roosters in a pe-"

He's cut off by the feeling of his heart entering his chest. He groans aloud, gasping for air as he adjusts to the sensation. Killian is a bit winded, to say the least.

"Sorry," Charming apologizes. Killian swears he detects some genuine sympathy there. "I was just following instructions. I thought it'd be...well, easier if it were quicker."

"I see where your daughter gets it from," Killian groans. "The candidness, that is."

Charming grins at that, evidently flattered by the comparison, before dusting his hands off on his pants. "We should get back. Regina called in reinforcements and it's not pretty."

Killian frowns in concern. "Not pretty?"

"More guards than I've ever seen," Charming admits with a grimace. "Snow and Emma were headed back there when we got your heart back - Emma summoned it, somehow - and they sent me back to give it to you."

"How did they stop me?" he asks. "Last thing I remember Emma was pulling her sword back and I was ready to die.'

"My wife is really good with arrows. Merlin is really good with spells," Charming says. "They saved your life. And I offered to help you out, I've heard how much you mean to Emma."

Gossip apparently traveled far and wide. Given all they've been through - all they've _just_ been through, between declarations of love and near death - the thought of Emma's affection for him being known shouldn't warm him. And yet, it does. "What - you're not going to inquire about my intentions with your daughter?"

"I may have only just met her again, but I know she can hold her own. And, your piracy notwithstanding, from what I hear, you got yourself captured to save her. And tortured."

Killian lifts his shoulders, unfazed. "I'd do it again, you know. I'd go for the end of the world for her. Or time. I told her to kill me if she had to - rather it be her than me."

Charming narrows his eyes on him as if carefully considering him. "You mean that."

"Seems a bit pointless to lie to a man who has just put my heart back in my chest," Killian retorts. He does mean it, he'd do whatever it took to make Emma happy. No matter how difficult the circumstances make it, he will always put her first. "You missed the opportunity to interrogate me properly while you had my heart."

Charming just shakes his head in exasperation. "We should get going, Hook."

That they should. Killian won't barely evade killing her just to lose her. If Emma has a fight ahead of her, he intends to be at her side to help her in any way he can. It's been his intention since the beginning, even when his motives weren't as pure, to see to it that the Savior had all the help she needed in defeating the Evil Queen. Given that he fell in love with the Savior and the queen just tortured him physically and psychologically, he's all the more motivated.

He spent most of the day convinced he'd never see Emma again - either she'd die or he would. Now that their future is open to them once more, he damn well intends to fight for it.

"Lead the way, Charming," Killian gestures for him to pass in front of him. He gives him an exaggerated bow.

He rolls his eyes. "It's David, Hook."

"Well, it's Killian, _David_."

-/-

When Emma and Snow get to where the action is, the sun is setting in the sky. Emma feels like she severely underestimated the amount of guards fighting, Regina apparently pulled all the stops in getting every one of them possible. As many as she and Killian have fought, it pales in comparison to the total amount of them. There must be a hundred knights, all following their queen's orders. She's big on recruitment, Regina is.

Guinevere, Lancelot, Mulan, and a wolf Emma strongly suspects is a transformed Ruby are all holding their own, but with the way the odds are looking she's not sure they'll be able to do it for long. Snow immediately draws her bow and gets set on shooting arrows.

"Welcome back," Merlin greets as soon as he spots her. Everyone else seems to be keeping the guards back enough that they don't interfere with him and his magic. "How did it go with Killian?"

"Fight now. Talk later," Emma's hand goes to her belt, ready to beat back the guards right alongside all the rest of them. Merlin clears his throat, stopping her in her tracks.

"You have more useful weapons than that, Emma."

Her magic. Right. Emma steels herself, taking in a deep breath. She holds her hands out in front of her and, just like that, all the guards freeze.

"Well," Emma says, almost conversationally. The area around the castle turns nearly silent. She's as stunned as everyone else looks. Guinevere and Lancelot stop with their swords midway in the air. Mulan turns around from her prior fight to gape at Emma. Even Red gets her paws off - literally - of her current competition and her yellow eyes dart towards Emma. Snow just lowers her bow, giving Emma a knowing smile. "That was a lot easier than I thought it'd be. Especially given my only practice was with one person and not...however many there are here."

Merlin laughs, shaking his head. "I know it's easier one at a time, but you seem to have gotten the hang of it."

"Motivation and all that," Emma reasons.

"And enough power to defeat Regina," Snow adds. Emma spots Mulan draping a red cloak over Red. She reverts back to her human form, clutching the cloak around herself and pressing a quick kiss to her partner's lips in thanks. Guinevere and Lancelot seem to catch their breaths for a moment before approaching Emma.

"It's wonderful to see you again, Emma," Guinevere greets. Emma gives her a meek smile before Guinevere directs her eyes to Merlin. "Why don't we just do what we did to the guards to her, Merlin? Rendering her incapable of moving seems to me to be a better alternative than pushing her inside."

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Merlin says. "Magic like that has a difficult time constraining someone with as much power as Regina. I have to _constantly_ push her back, if you haven't noticed, if there was a better way to corner her myself I would have tried it by now."

"We know, we interrupted you," Red interjects, heading towards them with Mulan at her side. She's tugging on a dress under her cloak as she walks, unbothered by her apparent nudity. "Sorry about that. But we made it up to you by helping fight the guards, right?"

"That you did," Merlin replies, not unkindly. "And I thank you for it."

"We've been working against Regina since before Emma was born. Fighting against her now doesn't require thanks," Mulan says.

"But we appreciate it nonetheless," Lancelot continues quickly. "Just as all of us do your efforts to hold her back."

" What are our plans for what happens next?" Snow asks. "Corner her with Merlin until Emma can use her power to…"

"What?" Emma wrinkles her nose, turning to Merlin. "Freeze her in a way that apparently won't work because of her power? You told _me_ it should do it before, but now you're saying you can't do it?"

Merlin sighs heavily. " _You_ have the power in you to beat hers, Emma. I have millennia of experience, but you have raw, unbridled power in your fingertips. That's why you're the one who can defeat her. It doesn't matter what you cast - you have the light to take the darkness itself out of the shadows."

"Pretty metaphor," Emma replies, her voice not annoyed as it could be. Merlin is helping her, risking his life to do it, but the same time he's being irritatingly vague. "As much as I want to go in there and kick her ass, I kind of need an idea of what to do. I didn't before and look where that got me. Do I just push her around? Constantly have to refreeze her? So far, that's about my only experience with magic. We don't exactly have time to coach on fireballs - especially given I'm pretty sure she's found a way to make herself flame resistant by now."

"Would squid ink do it?" Mulan asks abruptly.

Merlin shoots Mulan a smile, digging into his pocket and pulling out a small vial. "You read my mind. If Emma can hold her own against Regina, we can trap the queen in her own cell. All it will take is a bit of this ink. Of course, in order to use it you'd need to constrain Regina and get her in a cell in the first place. That's where the Savior comes into play. A bit of pushing, a little freezing, you know how the rest goes. Basic spells in magic, but with the Savior casting them they're something else entirely."

Emma considers this for a moment, hand coming up to her chin. She bites her lip, thinking of how she can do this. Everyone else seems similarly lost in thought around her.

"Let up," Emma advises Merlin suddenly, hand patting him on the shoulder. "I have an idea of what to do. You can't push her in place forever."

Merlin raises his eyebrows. "You have other thoughts on how to keep her back?"

"I don't need her kept back. I need her able to move," Emma explains. "She won't get where we need her if she isn't."

"What's the plan?" Snow turns to her, a knowing look on her face.

Emma takes a deep breath. "Simple. I'm going to let her choose - try to hang onto her power and kill me or flee and save her life. I have an idea of which one she'll pick."


	23. Power Pt 2

**A/N: I will be a lot more effusive in the last author's note, trust me, but I just wanted to take a moment to express how sincerely grateful I am to everyone who has left feedback, egged this fic on, and just made this such a fun experience to write for me. This is sort of the grand finale, even if there's an epilogue after this, and I just have all sorts of feelings about it that are hard for me to even put into words. I really, really just wanted to do this justice. The fact that I've written a fic that's going to end up at 250k is frankly insane to me, and I couldn't have done it without the wonderful support I've been given. A hell of a lot of work went into this (and a few temporary losses of my mind at the update schedule) but I'm so grateful for this experience.**

 **I really hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you so, so much for reading.**

-/-

"Power, of course," Killian finishes easily, walking up behind Emma just as she soon as she stops speaking. She turns around at the sound quickly and he can't conceal his wide grin at the sight of her. She's intact, healthy, and ready to fight. And he, fortunately, has his heart safely inside of his chest.

Even given that there's a grand threat looming over their heads, things are beginning to look up.

"Killian," Emma exhales, her expression overcome with relief as she races forward to embrace him. Killian reciprocates readily, his arms curling around her waist as he presses a kiss to her shoulder. She holds him so tightly he wonders if it'll leave bruises, but he can't find it within himself to give a damn.

He's thankful they managed to have such impeccable timing. David is right behind him, he's willing to bet Emma is mouthing her thank-yous to her father over his shoulder, and they ran most of the way here to catch up. Most of all, he's thankful Emma is alive, safe, and warm in his arms. Finally.

"Emma," he says her name with all the reverence he can imbue the word with, "thank the bloody gods you're alright."

"I could say the same to you," Emma replies. One of her hands tangles in his hair, a soothing and familiar gesture. He just buries his nose further in the crook of her neck. "You scared the hell out of me."

"I was trying to kill you, so that feeling is quite understandable."

She laughs, the sound music to his ears. Emma takes a step back from him, halfway leaving his embrace, but her hands move to frame his face. "I'm just so happy you're okay."

Killian leans in a bit closer to her, his forehead coming down to rest against hers. He can't express his relief, his thankfulness, how truly grateful he is to have her back. The fact that she's alive is a constant mantra, quieting a fear he's been trying to vanquish since this morning.

Gods, all of this has only been a _day_ and it felt like a decade.

"Aye," he tells her, voice too clouded with emotion to say much else. Killian hopes she understands regardless, can feel it in the slide of his hand against her back and the way his eyes bore into hers. "And I you, Swan."

Emma steps forward just the slightest bit more, her lips a whisper away from his and her hands returning to the back of his head.

"As nice as this is," Red's voice interrupts them. They both take a reflexive step back. They momentarily forgot their audience. Emma flushes, crossing her arms around herself. Killian can't find it within himself to be too ashamed, given the circumstances. "Kingdom saving, remember? I'm willing to bet Regina has a second wave of guards ready to go, and if Merlin just let up on restraining her…"

"She could launch an attack at any moment," Merlin continues, his expression pinched in concern. "Emma…"

"We need to get a move on it," Emma surmises. She clears her throat, scanning her eyes over the group assembled before her. She seems to take a beat to think before saying her next words, rocking back on her heels. "Right. I have a plan, a little more specific than just offering her an ultimatum. A crazy plan, but a plan."

"Define crazy," Lancelot probes, raising his eyebrows.

Emma winces. "Well…"

"Let's hear it," Snow says, looking at her daughter with confidence. Killian has never met the woman before, aside from glimpsing at her in Arendelle and evidently being shot in the back by her with an arrow that saved his bloody life, but he quite likes her already. David slips his arm around his wife's shoulders. "I don't doubt it'll work."

Emma's arms move to her sides and Killian doesn't waste any time in slipping his hand in hers in a gesture of silent encouragement. If time is truly as crucial as it seems, she's going to need to explain rather quickly. Emma gives her parents, then him a small smile before opening her mouth to speak.

-/-

The second time Emma is dragged into the castle by guards, she's a little feeling better about it.

There's only two men in armor who have their hands on her elbows, guiding her with more of a gentle touch than a rough one. They don't say much at all to her when they open the doors to the palace. They don't make it more than a few steps before becoming face to face with Regina.

Regina, despite looking uncharacteristically frazzled, grins widely at the sight of Emma restrained by her knights. She looked as if she was making her way out of the castle, but clearly their arrival stopped her in her tracks. "Good. You caught her."

Emma keeps her stance rigid and her face impassive, not showing any glimmer of discomfort.

"That we did, your majesty," the man on her right says, bowing slightly with his words. The one with his hand on her other side bows as well, forcing her to bend down a bit with them. She wants to grimace - the last thing she wants to do is bow in front of the woman who has claimed her throne by way of killing everyone - but beggars can't be choosers. Emma just stays as still as she can. "The rest got away. Many of our knights were lost, but we survived and brought the Savior to you."

"So you did," Regina hums thoughtfully, "I'm surprised you managed to capture her. I was starting to believe only I'd be capable of it after the amount of failures you all have had. This morning included."

"We work under your orders, my queen. Any efforts of ours are to serve you."

"What about the rest? The Savior had help?" Regina presses them for information, clearly agitated. "I've been trapped in here since this all started, all I saw was the pirate's heart disappearing when I summoned the knights. She must have the help of a witch or wizard because I was stuck in the throne room. The only sight I can see from those windows is the garden."

"I have no idea, your majesty," the same guard says. "But when we captured the Savior, she was alone."

"Did she try to use her magic?"

"No, your majesty."

Regina seems to let out a sigh of relief, one that's just barely noticeable. Emma keeps her head down, refusing to pay the woman the respect of looking her in the eyes. "Still cuffed then? The pirate had some use. He may have not killed you himself, Savior, but it satisfies me enough that he's the reason you'll be easier for me to kill."

The knight on her left, the one who has been silent for this entire exchange, tightens his grip on Emma's arm.

"It's as I said," Regina says, her voice more confident and less frustrated as she continues. "Love is weakness. You'll be dead in no time, Savior, I don't suppose you have any last words?"

There's something goading in the way she says it, satisfaction dripping from the words. Regina tried the same thing before she threw Emma in that cell, her way of pouring salt on the wound. Emma doesn't take the bait, knowing how much it'd frustrate Regina to not get a response she obviously craves.

Mean kids, murderous queens - it's the same kind of logic.

"What?" Regina asks in disbelief when Emma doesn't say a word. "Do you have nothing else to say?"

Emma doesn't respond, answering with her silence. She keeps her eyes pinned to the ground.

"Maybe I should go after your friends yourself after I'm through with you. That should get you talking."

It gets hard not to take the bait after too long. Emma steps out of the guards' hold easily, lifting her head up to look Regina in the eyes as hers widen with surprise. The knights at her side do nothing, just let her move.

Emma sets her hands on her hips, cocking her head to the side contemplatively. Now Emma is the one goading, but it's worth it. Emma needs to get on Regina's nerves for this - _this_ is bait. "You know, you could. But why have them when you can have me instead?"

And with that, she's off running before a blast of magic has a chance to catch her. Regina continues trying it, various spells just barely missing her as she ducks into the next hall and starts running in a zig-zag so they curses will have a harder time hitting her. Running, by now, is something she has plenty of experience with. And if Regina wants to kill her, she's going to have to try it up close and personal.

No audience that could get hurt. No magic-barring cuffs on Emma. Just the two of them, fighting it out the way it's been building up to for years now.

"Go after her!" Regina commands sharply, once Emma is far enough away that Regina's spells don't have a chance of hitting her. Thanks to the high ceilings of the place, Regina's voice carries.

"Well, majesty," she hears the guard that's been doing the talking - Merlin, because Killian and his accent would be recognizable in an instant - ask behind her. "Would you rather chase after her or flee?"

"Or perhaps-" Killian's voice filters through, the sound of his helmet being removed just barely audible right until Emma turns towards another hallway. She doesn't get to hear the rest of the line. She's a little disappointed, but maybe Killian can tell her after Regina is trapped. The fate of the kingdom seems a little more important than hearing quips.

Plus, if all goes as planned, she'll have plenty of time to say all she needs to to Regina herself.

Merlin can protect the two of them long enough with his magic for Regina to go after her. Which she will, Emma is certain, Regina didn't spend this long trying to capture her just to let her slip through her fingers. Merlin, Killian, and all the rest are secondary - Emma is the main goal. If Regina can kill her, Regina must think all the rest should fall into place.

Emma will just have to not get killed.

If Merlin can't magically appear in the castle, then neither can Regina. She's stuck with good old fashioned running like the rest of them. Emma finally hears the sound of heels clacking against the floor - really, far from sensible running shoes - when she starts making her way down the stairs to the dungeon. Emma isn't planning on revisiting the cell from hell, but there are other less risky alternatives that should do the job just fine.

-/-

Everything so far has gone perfectly according to plan.

Merlin slowly lowers his arms, just barely deflecting a curse from Regina as she starts to chase after Emma. Emma was right, it was a bit of a mad plan. But it seems to have worked perfectly, so long as Emma can outrun Regina and get to the cell Regina will hopefully spend the rest of her days in. Given Emma has much more experience running, Killian has faith it shouldn't be much of a problem.

Or so he hopes, at least. There's nothing that inspires terror in him quite like imagining Emma trapped with a powerful witch who would very much like for her to die a long and painful death.

"I'm going to follow, be there outside the cell for what happens next," Merlin tells him, removing the stolen armor he's wearing. It's uncomfortable, the mail is, and so cumbersome Killian wonders how the guards manage to fight in it. With magic, the process of taking it all off takes Merlin no time at all. "They should be there by now."

Killian nods, beginning to strip off his own costume. "I'll be right behind you."

Merlin gives him one last look before he turns around to follow Emma and Regina's tracks. Killian swallows his worry, or tries to, and reassures himself of his complete and utter belief in Emma and her abilities. He knows that she's capable of defeating Regina. Killian also knows that Regina would only need one mistake, one moment of hesitation to strike Emma dead.

He takes a deep breath and steels himself to at least be there for her in some way.

"Wait!" David's voice comes through as the front doors to the palace swing open. Killian whips around, still in the process of shedding the armor he's wearing. Snow, Mulan, Red, Lancelot, and Guinevere are all right behind David. "We have a big problem."

"Regina is chasing after Emma right this bloody instant," Killian jerks his head towards the hall pointedly, finally getting off the last of his trappings. "I may not be of use in the magical department, but it's the least I can do to be there if she needs me. I won't let her battle alone."

"Well, would you rather her be battling dead?" Guinevere asks bluntly, holding the door open and pointing behind her. "Guards are coming, looks like there are even more than the last round. Regina isn't pulling any punches, she must have called as many to the palace as possible."

Sure enough, when Killian cranes his head to look, there does seem to be an entire cavalry on its way to the castle. A crowd just as big, if not bigger, than the one Emma just froze. Perhaps they'll be deterred by the sight of their fellow knights frozen in place, but that's more likely just his wishful thinking.

They manage to put out one fire and another one starts.

"If they sneak up on her, she's dead," Mulan says gravely.

"And if she's distracted, then she's also dead," Red adds.

Snow looks to Killian, a concerned expression on her face. "Has Merlin already left?"

"He just went to help Emma," Killian explains, grimacing as he motions to his discarded chainmail. "The situation is a bit too precarious to take him away from, I imagine."

"Which means we have no one to magically solve our problems for us," David says with a frown. "Literally, that is."

"This is going to take a lot of arrows," Snow says darkly, tightening her grip on her bow. "Don't suppose we'd be able to break into Regina's men's arsenals, would we? Maybe they'd have arrows."

Killian sighs heavily, beckoning them inside and quickly walking backwards. "Barricade the doors so they can't get in, we can deal with them afterwards."

"That many men?" David asks skeptically. "They could just break their way inside, even if we piled up all the furniture."

"Well, you have a better idea, mate? Either we fight them off ourselves with those odds or we try another option. At the moment, I'm favoring the latter."

"He has a point," Guinevere says, already closing the door behind them and securing the deadbolt in place. Lancelot, Mulan, and Red spread out in the castle, presumably to do the same. "I like our odds of keeping them out better than fighting them off."

"I'll start moving furniture," Snow says, immediately setting off. It's an instant flurry of movement, everyone set on blocking every door. The chances of them besting that many guards are rotten, but Emma always said their odds were better with outsmarting knights. He hates that he can't be there for Emma during this, but if this is the best way he can protect her at the moment then this is how he'll do it.

Killian drags a nearby table over in front of the entrance to the palace, jerking his head towards David. "I could use a hand, mate."

"Already on it," David says, helping him push it in front of the door and block it off. Killian gives him a nod of thanks, racing to help the others. There are only a few doors to the inside of the castle, he doesn't worry about the balconies upstairs, and Regina keeps the place cluttered enough with desks and chairs. Among all seven of them, the task is completed in no time at all.

It's not until they're headed back to the entrance of the castle, set on adding to the pile at the front doors, when they hear a terrible crash.

David stiffens. "Emma…"

"Is downstairs," Killian finishes the thought, drawing his sword. "Sounds as if the sound came from this floor."

It sounded like glass shattering, which is...well, a point of concern. That, and the continuing sound of thudding.

"We forgot to block the windows, didn't we?" Snow asks faintly. Killian lets out a curse that sounds vaguely like _'bloody, buggering fuck',_ but his voice is so low and garbled it hardly is distinguishable as anything. There weren't many windows on the front side of the castle, sure, but there were enough to break through elsewhere. All of their blocking efforts were for naught.

David sinks his face into his palms. "We forgot the windows."

"We're doing a spectacular job so far," Lancelot says dryly. Guinevere wilts beside him. Red and Mulan, too, seem disturbed by the discovery. It's too late now. The damage is already done and the queen's black knights are already inside.

"It's not as if we had time to board them up," Mulan defends. "Unless anyone had planks of wood and nails lying around."

Killian lets out a long, exasperated breath. He reigns in any other creative curses, reasoning they do nothing for time. "We slowed them down, at least. I suppose fighting them off, it is."

"On the bright side, I found some arrows in a shelf I dragged in front of the back door," Snow says, attempting to keep her voice light. "It could be worse."

-/-

It's too easy to lure Regina into the dungeons, Emma thinks. She avoids the nightmare cell from hell pointedly, not loving the idea of reliving that experience, but runs into a lofty one with a strong door that looks as if it's meant to house multiple people. It should be more than enough to contain the Evil Queen, if Emma does this right.

Predictably, Regina is right behind her.

"Took you long enough," Emma greets as soon as Regina follows her inside of the cell. The older woman's expression is contorted in one of pure hate - then again, that could just be her usual face - and Regina slams the wooden door behind her. "I was starting to think you gave up."

"You obviously did, if your idea of running away is locking yourself up. Back to the dungeons again, I see," Regina notes, her voice intentionally trying to maintain a chilly sort of calm. "Didn't get enough of a taste of misery?"

"Nope," Emma answers smoothly, her tone light. "Call me a glutton for punishment. But don't worry, yours should be coming soon."

Maybe she's being a little heavy-handed and cliche, but the woman has tortured her and countless others for long enough. Emma is allowed to get some digs in.

Regina takes a step forward in a way she must hope is intimidating. Emma stays standing tall, eyes hard and arms crossed. "You think you're so clever, don't you? The little act upstairs, escaping, stealing the pirate's heart back."

Emma shrugs, just a small lift of her shoulders. "Or maybe you're just this stupid. I don't really care either way."

Regina throws a burst of magic from her hands that Emma just barely ducks it in time. She's tempted to draw her sword and take some kind of protection in that, but she's learned by now that it may as well be a toothpick against Regina. Her weapon should be her magic.

"I hit a nerve?" Emma asks, standing right back up. Emma rocks back and forth on her feet, obviously baiting. She's suddenly feeling energetic, eager to get the fight done and over with. She's been fighting for so long just to stay alive. Emma still is. Now she finally has the opportunity to finish the fight once and for all, she doesn't plan on screwing it up. "Sorry. Must have been the constant trying to kill me that makes me a little less friendly."

Regina rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. And how many of my knights have you killed?"

"You've been trying to kill me since I was a baby, now you're equating me defending myself with you killing hordes of innocent people?" Emma asks incredulously. Of all things to say, Emma has to say she wasn't expecting this response. "Seriously?"

"You're the Savior," Regina says the title with a sneer. "You've been destined to kill me. What _I_ did was self defense."

"Sorry for being born," Emma replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. "That was really my mistake. I'll do better next time."

"And trying to take me on now is truly the work of an innocent woman? If you truly wanted to live you'd make sure I never saw your face again," Regina retorts, somehow managing to blame Emma for this. "And instead, you think you can kill me in my own palace."

"You threatened to kill an entire village of people unless I offered myself up on a silver platter," Emma replies, astonished by the sheer lack of logic. She'd have blood on her hands if she _didn't_ try to protect those people. "How can you say that if I were innocent I'd just run? I ran before! And you chased me down with knights set on killing me! Did you just forget that?"

"Their deaths would be you defending yourself now, wouldn't they?" Regina fires back, referring to the villagers. She sends another blast of magic Emma's way, but she doesn't even have to work to duck out of the way. Her stomach is turning more from Regina's words than her attempts at ending her.

Emma's jaw hangs open with disgust, an uncomfortable feeling settling in her. Regina really is just delusional, there's no other word for it. Justifying murder and slaughter as self-defense doesn't make any sense when people haven't even done anything to warrant defending from. Emma fighting off guards trying to kill her is a hell of a lot different than Regina killing innocent people who never did anything to her. Even if a newborn was predicted to 'defeat' her, it doesn't justify killing a baby.

Regina is paranoid that one day - _today_ , hopefully - she's going to lose her power and her throne. Maybe that to her would be as bad as killing her. Being the Evil Queen is all she seems to have - no friends, no family, no hope. In a twisted way, it reminds Emma of that other cell she was in. The nightmare where her parents were dead, Henry and Geppetto were slaughtered, and she killed Killian herself.

Power, as conditional as it may be, is all Regina has left.

It makes Emma pity her, just a little bit. "I didn't bring you here to kill you."

"So what, you kill my knights but won't kill me?" Regina asks, raising her eyebrows. "Cowardly of you, if you're going to try it you should at least want to finish the job."

Regina tries sending another burst of magic towards her, but Emma just steps out of its path with a sigh and a frown. "I just want you to stop hurting people."

"You're going to have to try harder than that, Savior," Regina goads, but there's something obviously missing in her statement. Her abstaining from trying to kill Emma these past few minutes is - frankly - out of character. If Regina wants to try to get some hits in, Emma would rather she do it now.

So, Emma just stares back at her. "You first."

"You clearly think you can defeat me. Why don't you try?" Regina offers. "Show how grand the Savior is and take out the Evil Queen."

"What?" Emma asks, baffled. Whatever she was trying before to get her guard down, Emma isn't buying it. If there's a trap, she won't step in it. "Sure you want to do that? Goading the only person who can take you on seems like a bad idea to me. Did you accept that you're not winning this fight already?"

Regina scowls, rearing her hand back to throw another curse at her. Emma stops her, lifting up her hand to extinguish the flame before it can travel from her hand to Emma. Regina's expression turns more genuinely fearful, obviously not expecting Emma to counter her that easily. Emma ducked around magic before, she didn't directly stop it at the source.

She's never done that before, she doesn't think, but the motion came naturally. Maybe it's a handy Savior skill, but Emma doesn't exactly want to test it out again and risk it not working.

"That's what I thought," Emma gestures Regina's way, trying to freeze her in place before Regina blocks the spell with a motion of her own.

Much to Emma's disappointment, the deflecting thing seems just like a general magic thing and not a Savior bonus.

"Think I'm scared of you?" Regina scoffs, her eyes narrowing. "A rank amateur? I've spent decades cultivating my magic. You were helpless after five seconds of going up against me back in that village. And just like then, you'll fail again."

There's another burst of magic that Emma blocks, meeting Regina's power easily.

"I'm not an amateur," Emma says, repeating Merlin's earlier words. "I'm the Savior."

"You're new. You'll trip up," Regina says, casting another spell Emma just barely evades. It's almost ceaseless for a few seconds, Emma has to strain to see. "And I'll be ready to kill you when you do."

"Nice of you," Emma grunts. She lifts her hand up to freeze Regina in place and end this once and for all, but she's interrupted by her sudden inability to breathe. Emma feels a pressure on her throat as if someone is choking her and her hands immediately go up to her throat to pry imaginary fingers off of it.

"Came sooner than I thought," Regina grins, stepping closer to Emma just to goad. Regina's hands are at her sides, but the invisible one cutting off Emma's airway is clearly operating under her control. "You're good, sure, but you're not me. The Evil Queen is the most powerful enchantress in this land."

The invisible hand tightens around Emma's neck and her vision starts to blur. She feels the stirrings of panic in her when she can't feel air in her lungs. Regina edges closer to Emma just to taunt, and it takes all of Emma's willpower to keep her eyes open.

"Don't you forget it, _Savior_ ," Regina says the title as if it's a curse. Emma's legs feel weak, but they'll work enough for this.

"Merlin!" Emma rasps out, kicking Regina back and breaking her concentration from her magic. Her voice is hoarse, but should be audible. "Now!'

The door of the cell thuds shut, locking them inside of the dungeon. They could both get out with magic easily enough, sure, but that isn't the point. If someone's magic is restrained, they're trapped just like anyone else. And with the help of some handy squid ink, they're even more stuck. Guards, if they somehow come in a second wave, won't be able to get inside.

There's no way out aside from magic. Even if Regina decides to run for the hills, Emma won't let her.

They're trapped.

-/-

When the guards storm into the room, Killian and the rest are already ready to fight.

They may as well be trapped, so long as they want the lot of them to stray away from the dungeons. The fighting, at least, is a distraction to the men from attempting to track down their queen and defend her from the Savior. Merlin likely has a better chance against all of them then they do, but it's crucial that Emma doesn't have any distractions in her way.

He's used to fighting guards, after all. Killian's odds are usually much better and he's grown used to working in sync with a partner, but this will have to do. They stay around the entrance, ready to defend themselves as soon as the knights come in swinging. The group is smaller than they looked from far away, surely, but there are still around twenty more men than he finds feasible to fight off with their numbers.

Regina evidently kept quite the army.

Killian clashes his sword against a knight's as soon as one tries attacking him. "Couldn't have waited an hour, could you, mate?" he sighs. "You lot are a bloody nuisance, you know that?"

"Where's the queen?" the knight asks, taking note of the hook at the end of Killian's other arm. "You must know. Tell us where she is and maybe we'll let you live."

"She's in the fiery pits of hell where she belongs," Killian retorts, rolling his eyes as he knocks the guard back. "Oh, the chivalry. You won't be _letting_ me do anything."

He's immediately met with more to fight, sword meeting another within an instant. It's a familiar dance, fighting one off at a time, but hardly one he wishes to do while Emma is fighting for her life elsewhere.

"It'd be handy to have some magic tricks about now," Guinevere grunts, locked in her own battle beside him. Lancelot is right at her back. "Less stressful."

"I wouldn't argue with that, lass," Killian says, catching a guard's sword with his hook before it has the opportunity to run through her. "Just freeze the lot in their tracks and the problem stops. Makes me wish I were a wizard."

"Keep wishing," Lancelot advises, running through his opponent with a grimace. "We'll need it for this."

Killian keeps fighting, instead, reasoning his chances are better with that. He turns around just in time to kick back another guard. They tumble to the ground but their companion, it seems, has a torch in his hand. Killian vastly prefers fighting with swords, but he supposes people all have their preferences.

"What are you going to do, mate, burn me?" Killian asks skeptically, eyes fixed on the torch-wielding knight.

To his astonishment, the knight decides to take the torch to the rug that Killian is standing on.

"Bloody hell," Killian stomps out the flames before they have a chance to spread. "What is it with you lot and trying to burn places down?"

"Tell me where the queen is and I won't have to," the knight says with an impassioned, ridiculous loyalty.

"What an idiot," Killian huffs, knocking the hilt of his sword against the guard's helmet with a harsh clang. He collapses to the floor. Killian carefully sets the torch back on its place on the wall, too preoccupied to find something to put it out with. "Suicidal idiot, to boot. Say, what happens when you light a place on fire while _you're inside of it_?"

"Is all the commentary," David greets, dispatching another guard beside him, "really necessary?"

Killian whirls around to face the guard behind him with his sword, kicking the man off before he can get too close. David seems to be doing something similar, feet from him. "You fight all these guards for so long, you learn to keep yourself amused. Your daughter taught me the importance of that."

"Pulling the daughter card already? Really?"

"Arguing in the middle of a battle?" Snow asks in disbelief, stationed above them. She's standing on top a nearby table that they used to block off the door as she shoots off arrows. " _Really_?"

"I don't think we have time for back and forth," Killian admits with a frown, just barely catching an impending sword in his direction in time. He knocks the assailant back, the movement causing him to nearly hit the table Snow is standing on.

It's madness, all this fighting is.

"I don't know how Regina even managed to convince this many men to fight for her," David curses, fighting off a foe of his own. Emma's parents hold themselves in a fight incredibly well, considering they're in their fifties and presumably haven't been in battle for quite a while. "Honestly, it's not as if she's the most charismatic person."

"Not convince," Snow corrects, shooting an arrow into Charming's attacker. "Threaten. It's Regina we're talking about."

David gives her a nod of acknowledgement, seeming to concede the point as he and Killian continue fighting. "Thanks for the help, honey."

The rightful queen's words get Killian thinking. He wonders about young Hercules, the man who truly didn't want to be a knight any more than Killian wished to be an assassin. All it took for him was a little convincing, a reminder that there truly was another choice in the matter. He can understand why these guards do what they do, what they believe they must. They have families to defend, bellies to fill, lives to protect. It hardly makes up for all of their sins, but it's a necessary perspective.

Especially when it seems the guards are going to be a mite too difficult to fight off without more magical assistance.

"Oi!" Killian calls, stepping up beside Snow on the table. It catches both her and everyone else off guard, all of them freezing at the sudden interruption "You lot! Your queen is being bested by the Savior at this very moment far away from here. You're on the losing side. Feel welcome to switch! I did, never really worked for Regina very well in the first place, and I'm a great deal better off."

"What the hell are you doing?" Snow asks in disbelief, her bow still held up mid air.

"Delivering a wake up call, if you will."

"Hook," David warns, though the knight that was attacking him has abruptly stopped. "Get down from the damn table."

"I quite like the view up here, actually," Killian retorts with a shrug.

"Killian," Snow's voice is warning beside him. The knights are still motionless, seemingly at loss for what to do. Many seem to be lowering their swords in sheer confusion.

Killian continues, encouraged by the break in battle. He's learned how to command attention after centuries of captaining a ship, after all. This wouldn't be the first battle he's ended by the force of his voice alone. "You all know that the Savior is the only one who can defeat the queen, correct? That's why you've been hunting her - and me, for that matter - for so bloody long. Regina is already a footnote in history and if you'd rather not face the fate of friends like yours, I'd advise you to stop fighting for a woman who won't be in power for much longer."

"Violence and intimidation are Regina's methods, not ours," Snow carefully cautions beside him, her words quiet enough not to be overheard.

"As opposed to engaging in battle?" Killian counters.

She purses her lips. "Fair enough," Snow clears her own throat, taking note of her captive audience and lowering her bow to her side. "You all had your reasons for joining Regina, I know. You feared the consequences if you didn't. She decimated your village, threatened your lives, and did terrible, terrible things to all of you. And I'm sorry we weren't here to stop that. But you can make your own choice, right here and now, for what you'd rather stand for."

The queen is already giving political speeches. That hardly took any time at all. He'll work with it, she's not saying a word that isn't true.

Killian crouches down while Snow speaks. "Want up on the table, Dave? Say a few words, change some minds and possibly save your kingdom?"

"No I don't want - oh, damn it, fine. I guess we're doing the table."

"I'm a very persuasive person, you'll find," Killian grins.

David's answering sigh is long-suffering. He gets on the table. Killian is briefly concerned the wood will crumple with the weight of three people, but it seems to be holding sturdy just fine. Usually when he elevated himself to give some rousing speech on his ship he was the only one talking, it's a bit odd sharing the task.

Not unwelcome, certainly, but odd.

"You don't have to do this anymore," David adds. "The fighting can end here. No one else has to get hurt. We can rebuild this kingdom together, you can decide what you want to do with your lives now that you don't have to constantly watch your back. Snow is right. You have a choice. You don't have to kill anymore."

"Been saving that, have you?" Killian murmurs, his voice only audible to David.

"A little,' he admits, voice just as low. "Figured we'd have to deal with the guards eventually, though not like this."

Killian accepts this with a quiet noise of acknowledgement. There seems to be mixed reactions in their makeshift crowd. They hardly seemed entirely convinced, but they're at least not trying to fight once more. It's a step in the right direction.

"They're right," a nearby knight takes his helmet off and speaks up, looking haggard and somber. "We have an way out, we need to take it."

"Graham," a man at his side immediately protests. The name rings familiar and Killian's eyes narrow, attempting to place it. Perhaps their paths crossed while Killian was working for Regina. "What are you doing?"

"Regina was controlling me," Graham ignores the other guard, determined. Killian swears he's never seen the man before, but he _swears_ he does recognize the name. "She had my heart. Made me do horrible, terrible things. I never want to go back to that again."

Killian can relate, to say the least. The words make him purse his lips, finally connecting where he recognizes the name from. "You didn't meet Emma when she was posing as a guard, did you?" he ventures, nodding towards the man in question.

Graham's eyes light up in recognition. "Lilly, that was the name she used, wasn't it?"

"Aye," Killian nods. The conversation seems baffling to everyone else in the room - Swan's parents included - but he recognizes something familiar in the man besides just his name. The same sort of thing he saw in young Hercules, that Killian has seen in the mirror. If he can start with just one person, he'll do so. "She told me she regretted she couldn't save you."

"She did, hm?" Graham says the words so quietly Killian has to strain to hear them. "That's kind of her."

He sounds as if he genuinely means the words. Killian nods in agreement. "She's a kind woman. A stark comparison to the likes of Regina, if you ask me."

Killian expects someone to interject, either the true king and queen or one of the other guards, but no one does. They all seem to be waiting for Graham's response, confused by the seeming absurdity of it. Killian, David, and Snow look amongst themselves, taking in the sudden change of conversation. They're not speaking anymore, but that may work out just fine.

"The queen isn't worth it," Graham says finally. "The Evil Queen, that is. You have families, many of you, and you know as well as I do that Regina has threatened every one of them. You're either here because you were coerced or threatened."

"That's not true," another knight immediately objects. "Without the queen we wouldn't survive, how else would we be paid?"

A few guards grunt their approval, but Graham remains unconvinced. Guinevere and Lancelot edge away from the crowd, taking advantage of the distraction. Red is still in the wolf form she reverted to when the fighting started, Mulan keeping careful watch over her with her cloak visibly tucked into her satchel.

"And what other opportunities did you have?" Graham asks pointedly. "It's as the queen said - Regina robbed you of every other one. She threatened your family, ransacked your villages, coerced you into doing her bidding. She controlled more than just me, I know that. There is more than one kind of control."

"Regina hunted me down since I was a child because she wanted revenge," Snow adds, her voice grim and commanding attention all at once. "I know what she's capable of. I did things that I wasn't proud of just to live. But you all have a chance, now, to make your own choices without the threat of Regina looming over your heads.'

Graham nods his agreement. "She's right. We finally have a chance. We have to take it."

"Just because Hook is a traitor doesn't mean we all have to be," another voice . "We promised loyalty to the queen."

"And how loyal has the queen been to you, sending you to die?" Killian challenges, knowing full well that Regina couldn't give a damn about her soldiers. They're weapons, they don't have any other use to her. "Threatening you, controlling everyone's mate Graham here and torturing him?"

The room falls silent.

"That's what I thought," Killian surmises. "We're giving you a chance, which is a hell of a lot more than the Evil Queen ever did. I want you all to consider that."

There's a careful atmosphere to the scene, something like a long-suppressed realization dawning on the knights. Years and years of brainwashing need a bit more than a speech to defeat, but this should at least be a starting point. A delay to prevent them all from being killed outright. If forcing them to wake up is what it takes to ensure Emma's safety, then it's a task Killian needn't think twice about.

He even thinks they've managed to convince the whole crowd of that, before two guards decide to charge the table with their swords held high. It's an attempted attack that just feels pathetic, truthfully.

"Oh, bloody hell," Killian scowls, knocking the two men down with his boot as he steps off the table and draws his sword. They're lousy fighters, the pair, and they only take a few taps to knock down. He doesn't kill them - it seems like poor form to do so - but they'll have quite ugly headaches when they awaken. Other guards don't seem to be joining, so that's at least something to be thankful for.

Killian casts a long look around the cramped room, just to verify no one else is itching for violence.

Snow just blinks, not missing a beat. "Alright - _now_ is everyone ready to make that choice?"

"The right one, please," David adds, a note of exasperation in his tone.

There aren't very many interruptions, after that.

-/-

Regina's head snaps towards the door as it slams. The room is dark without the light filtering in, only a few torches lighting it. If worse comes to worse, at least Emma might be able to fight fire with fire.

"You locked yourself in a cell to get yourself killed?" Regina asks in disbelief, still looking at the closed door. "This is a new level of foolish, even for you."

She uses Regina's moment of distraction to freeze her in place and - miraculously - it works. Emma doesn't waste any time in digging into her pockets for the cuffs and slapping them around Regina's wrists. She can't resist the temptation of allowing a victorious grin to creep on her face. She lets Regina move, just to hear a response. "How does it feel to be powerless, huh?"

"You kept the cuffs," Regina's expression darkens as she looks to her wrists. They bind her magic effectively, much to Emma's relief. "How convenient. You want to ruin my life just like your mother did."

If this is what Regina resorts to without her magic powers, Emma can see why Regina is so dependent on them. The idea of Snow, a woman who has already shown more kindness and compassion in her pinky finger than Regina has in her entire life, ruining anyone's life is laughable. So Emma laughs, a stilted sound of disbelief. "Okay. Sure."

"She killed the only man I've ever loved, did you know that?" Regina asks, malice dripping from her words. "I'm sure you think yourselves as heroes, but she's the reason Daniel is dead. _He_ was an innocent man."

"Now you're accusing my mother of murder after slaughtering," Emma's eyes dance, attempting to estimate a number of victims and giving up on the task immediately, "countless people. Do you not see the irony here?"

"He died in my arms," Regina mutters, her voice bleak. It's the first trace of real emotion, aside from anger, that she's ever detected in the woman. "I loved him more than anything and he died in my arms."

Emma should freeze her now and forget about it, lock Regina away forever. She's a mass murderer and just spent the last day torturing her and the man Emma loves. But her curiosity is killing her. If Regina is accusing her mother of something sinister she wants to know what it is. Not that she'll believe it - her lie detector is good for something and it's telling her that whatever happened is definitely not a Snow committing murder scenario Regina is painting this as - but there's something that makes her want to pry.

Regina is powerless, she's not getting the cuffs off anytime soon. Emma just wonders what the hell could have happened to someone to make them this evil, this hard, and this cruel.

"And you expect me to believe that my mother just callously murdered your boyfriend for the fun of it?" Emma asks, raising her eyebrows in skepticism. "Okay. Sure. She probably ruined your life just like I did - by _existing_."

"She told a secret that got him killed!" Regina nearly shouts. "I was to be queen and Daniel was a stable boy, when Snow told my mother about our relationship Cora killed him. All because Snow couldn't keep her big mouth shut!"

"So your mother killed Daniel," Emma deduces, unimpressed. She takes a step back away from Regina, trying to place when the bandit Snow White ran away from home and when Regina came into power. "Not mine. Wouldn't she be, what, ten at the time?"

Regina isn't swayed. "She knew better."

"What, you think a ten year old knew that telling her step-grandmother about a secret would mean she'd kill someone? Seriously?"

Emma can't help but think of all of the people that have died for this. All of this time Regina has tried to get revenge, tried to cling to a throne for the sake of showing a chatty ten year old who had the upper hand. It's not understandable, it's ridiculous. Nothing makes mass murder justified, sure, but this excuse in particular is just the most weak one Emma can think of. "You spent all these years trying to get revenge and you couldn't even direct it towards the right person. How sad is that?"

Emma is unsympathetic, but Regina hasn't earned sympathy from her. Regina lost a person she cared about and blamed the wrong person. Guards, maybe she can understand not having a choice. Kill or be killed by Regina. Maybe that could even be true for Regina going after Emma as an adult if she thought the Savior was trying to kill her. A person with their heart controlled wasn't to blame for the actions of their puppeteer, either, Killian showed her that much. If this has all been Regina's idea of revenge, she did a botched job of it.

On his own quest for revenge, Killian was the one who killed Regina's mother. He told her as much once, she read it written in the pages of his Captain's logs that his amnesiac self handed over. Killian regretted the one kill he actually did on Regina's orders, even if she had nearly as much blood on her hands as Regina did. The rest of the orders he chose not to follow. Even with absolutely nothing worth living for and a threat looming over his head, he chose to save people instead of kill them. Her parents chose to send her away and lose her to save her life. Even in Emma's nightmares where everything was just stripped away, she chose not to give up and let more people die.

There is _always_ a choice.

Emma considers this just as Regina punches her across the face. Without magic, she seems to be resorting to other means. And speaking of choices, Regina _chose_ to hit Emma rather than continue her spiel. Which works just fine for her, Emma would rather do this than listen to more of the self-pity.

(First wanting to kill a ten year old, then an infant. There were definitely choices.)

"Okay, your odds were better with the magic than they were your fists," Emma grits out, bracing the punch with as much grace as she can. She's thirty years this woman's junior, for one, and a life in a palace hasn't hardened her to take more than Emma's life on the streets has. Emma swings back at her, hand connecting with the woman's jaw. "Just remember, you started it."

"And I'll end it," Regina snarls, hand curling into another fist. Emma catches Regina's hand with hers before Regina can deliver another blow. It's all the second Emma needs to freeze her in place again.

"That's handy, the freezing thing," Emma remarks, catching her breath and letting her hand fall over the developing bruise on her cheek. Her other hand digs into her coat, clasping around a small vial and twisting it open."But it's about to be even more permanent."

Emma throws the bottle of squid ink on her, effectively freezing her in place. Regina can't do anything but look on her in horror, but Emma just gives her one last piteous look. All of that, all that chaos and destruction, for badly aimed revenge and a claim to a throne. She curls her hand around the door handle of the cell.

"Enjoy misery, Regina. You've given everyone enough of it."

Maybe she could have come up with a better last line, but her planning time was a little short.

-/-

They're all waiting for her the second she steps out, looking anxious one second then relieved the next. Snow is the first to embrace her, arms wrapping around her in a fierce hug that Emma can't help but close her eyes and melt into. She feels a second addition to the hug, she can already tell it's David by the way he cups her head, and just lets herself feel warm from head to toe.

They're her parents. They're here. They love her.

That lost little girl she used to be really had no idea. Even the skittish woman who didn't want to accept that she was the Savior had no idea.

"I did it," Emma exhales, the first to speak, squeezing her eyes further shut. "She's all locked up, cuffed and frozen and extra-frozen."

"Extra-frozen," Emma hears an amused laugh, one she recognizes instantly as Killian's. His hug will be so tight that his ribs might break, Emma swears, just as soon as her parents let her go. "Bloody hell I've missed you, Swan."

"We knew you could do it," David says, his voice fond as he pulls the both of them closer.

"Never doubted for one second," Snow continues.

"Well, maybe when you first brought up the dungeon thing-"

"But once you explained it we were right back on board."

Emma laughs fondly as she steps back from the embrace, looking the two of them over. It still doesn't feel real, being reunited with her parents after everything. A little of it was curbed by the life and death situation, but now that the threat is gone she's forced to face the reality of it. It's not a bad reality, by any stretch of the imagination, it's just...different.

She thinks of that lost little girl and her eyes get watery. She presses her lips together, wetting them as she blinks the tears back.

"We're proud of you," Snow tells her, repeating their earlier words.

"Very, very proud of you," David emphasizes.

Emma gives them both a tremulous smile, unable to even express how those words affect her. She settles for a _"thank you"_ , at loss for any other words to say. Maybe there's a way she can put into words what it means to her, but after all of today she's feeling a little too wiped to attempt it.

She meets Killian's eyes over Snow's shoulder. Her mother's smile is knowing as she steps away, taking David's hand and dragging him with her.

Emma takes a step forward to hug Killian and he meets her halfway. They're both too eager to hold each other, remind each other that they're both here and this is real. It feels as easy as breathing. One of her arms goes over his shoulder, the other under his arm and he wastes no time in pulling her as close as possible. She takes in a ragged breath, leaning her weight into him as the stress from it all starts to just melt away. He's been at her side through all of this. Killian went from a man she assumed was an enemy to one she can't imagine getting through all of this without.

He's her constant, her confidant, her partner.

"I love you," she murmurs into his neck, pressing him closer to her. His hand strokes up and down her spine, swaying with her in place. It shouldn't feel like the time or place, surrounded by an audience, but given the last time Emma said it he was being controlled by Regina she feels like she has to pave over the memory. Even her first, unheard confession was when he was asleep and Emma was getting ready to sacrifice herself.

Both moments left a little to be desired. But Emma can make new ones. They have plenty of time to do all of that and more.

The thought brings a wide smile to her face, one she finds mirrored on his. "I love you, Killian."

"And I you," he replies easily, eyes scanning over her face. "You worried the bloody hell out of me, you know."

"I wasn't the one who had their heart taken by Regina," Emma points out, raising her eyebrows. Everyone else is talking amongst themselves, seeming to understand that they need their moment, and her hands move to his sides with an easy, natural affection. "I don't think we should be practicing sword fighting together any time soon. Or ever."

"You were the one who was captured first, need I remind you. As for the practicing, we can always make new memories in place of the uglier ones. I'll never forget that time before you posed as a knight, when you knocked me down and straddled me. Much more pleasant, that memory was," Killian says, obviously content at the thought of it. His grin widens. "I almost kissed you, then."

"I didn't straddle-"

"You straddled, darling," he contests, eyes soft as his hand comes up to touch her cheek. "But not to worry, I was hardly complaining. Wait a moment," he pauses, frowning as his fingers skim along her cheekbone. "Were you _hit_?"

Killian takes in her bruises with a frown, thumb gently ghosting over the mark Regina left on her cheek with her fist. She's pretty sure her lip is split, too, but that's a matter for another time.

"I'm fine," Emma says immediately, trying to alleviate his concern. "Regina can barely throw a punch. You should see the other woman."

His features smooth, concern replaced with gentle pride. "Bested the Evil Queen, you did."

"After months of trial and error," Emma says, but her tone is more warm than anything. "And a certain captain helping me out."

David clears his throat, clearly choosing that time to eavesdrop into their conversation. Emma is grateful he missed the straddling part.

"And my family and each and every one of you who I would be dead without," Emma finishes, loudly but not insincerely, turning around to face everyone. "Seriously. Thank you. All of you."

Red is the next to hug her. It's fitting, considering she's the one who started her off in all of this. If not for her and that stupid compass - the other one, not the one tucked into her pocket - she never would have been able to come this far. She tells her as much, adding her thanks, and Red just shakes her head.

Emma tells Mulan that they would have been lost without her help finding the other compass and getting up that beanstalk. The woman gives her a rare, broad smile. Even the cuffs are why she was able to take Regina down and render her magicless, even if Mulan didn't realize their use at the time.

It's a firm handshake with her, and Emma doesn't even mind she has to flex her fingers a few times afterwards to get feeling back into her hand.

When she turns to Guinevere and Lancelot, they're already ready for it.

"And without us…" Lancelot begins.

Guinevere picks right up from where he leaves off. "You would have frozen to death."

Emma laughs, overwhelmed with a feeling of genuine affection. "Exactly. Plus without the whole box hint, we would have been running around in circles. Even if it did end of being burnt down into ash," she frowns at the memory. "I should really do something for Abigail and Frederick, once we get all of this figured out."

"C'mon," Guinevere teases, "how many people can say they've had their house burned down because the Savior was on a grand quest to save the kingdom?"

"Hopefully just them," Emma says quickly, not willing to entertain the thought. "Considering Regina just threatened to burn down an entire village I went to. She didn't do that, right? The mass slaughter was in that weird nightmare cell but-"

"I've heard of no arson or killings," Lancelot reassures her. "Don't worry."

Emma lets out a deep breath. "Thank the gods."

They both hug her with wide smiles, as easygoing as ever. It's weird to think of the first time she met them, when she didn't even want to accept being the Savior. She remembers asking for answers and stories about her parents and avoiding meeting Killian's eyes as much as possible. A hell of a lot has changed since then.

She's definitely changed a lot since then.

"So, Merlin," Emma's eyes flit over to the wizard, a creeping smile on her face. "Everything go as predicted?"

"Even better," he says, a grin of his own on his face. "Congratulations on the victory, Savior."

Merlin holds his hand out in an offer for her to shake it. Emma bypasses it entirely, arms going around his neck in a fierce hug. He takes a beat to respond, obviously caught off guard, but does all the same. "I owe you," Emma tells him, "even if I still think the prophecy thing is a load of crap."

"You know you've been proven wrong, correct?" Merlin asks, leaning back to look at her. "The Savior defeated the Evil Queen. The future has been fulfilled."

"Eh," Emma shrugs. "Visions are vague. So are crystal balls or whatever else. I'm just going to stick to my head. You try to stick to prophecy books too much and you'll go insane thinking about all of it."

Merlin's eyes flash. Emma's words must have hit a little too close to home.

"I'm sorry if I-"

"No," he shakes his head immediately, "you're right. That's a good perspective to have. We are more in control of our destinies than we realize, after all. More a sum of our choices than the threads designed for us."

"Now you're getting philosophical on me," Emma scrunches her face, but finds herself agreeing all the same. "Seriously, though, thank you. Without the magic lessons, your visions would be more dead Savior than victorious Savior."

"Of course," Merlin says.

She takes a step back, eyes skimming over everyone. There were the lull tones of conversation between everyone, but they gradually fade as Emma steps right back next to Killian and takes hold of his hand. He gives her a soft smile as his thumb skims over her skin.

The sight of all of them, standing side by side, makes her think.

"What did you guys do while I was down there?" Emma asks curiously. "Just wait upstairs?"

There's a beat of silence.

"Ah, something like that," Killian replies, a bewildering smile creeping on his lips.


	24. Home

**A/N: I can't begin to put into words how much all of the love and support you guys have given me for this story have meant to me. Seriously. It was my own weird brainchild and it spawned into something so long and sprawling that I'm ultimately so proud of. I'm just so, so thankful to everyone who has taken the time to leave me a review, leave kudos, favorite, follow, like, reblog, and all the rest. It seriously means the world. I want to thank Amber, Steph, and Ella especially - who cheerleaded this fic when it first started out and I had no idea what the hell I was doing (for the record, I still don't).**

 **There will be sequels. Keep an eye out for them, I think I'll start posting it in a month or so. If you guys liked this story, recommend it to your friends! It's become such a part of my life for the past few months, so I'm delighted to share it with you all. Thank you all so much for sticking with me every Wednesday. I read every single message and review and comment and tag. And they all mean so much to me.**

 **This is honestly just so bizarre that I get to sit here with the end of the day with a 250k word long story. That's complete! I went crazy sometimes trying to make sure to stick to my schedule and it worked!** **Now I get to mark this story complete! God, this is weird. Follow/favorite/subscribe/etc. if you want to keep up with what I write in the meantime! Thank you all so much for reading.**

 **I really hope you enjoy this chapter. And I hope you enjoyed this story.**

-/-

"So, let me get this straight," Emma starts, still trying to digest all the information that was just thrown at her. Killian's hand is still a steady weight in hers. They're still standing in the dungeons. "You managed to convince a hoard of Regina's knights to turn over to our side?"

"Well, it was more of a -"

"Convincing them not to kill us," David finishes Killian's sentence with a self-aware shrug. "It's going to be a mess to figure out, but it beat them getting down in the dungeons and distracting you and Merlin from Regina."

"Or killing us," Guinevere adds helpfully. "That would have been much worse. Killian might have saved all of our lives."

Emma can only gape, trying to picture the scene and failing. Killian has always been good with speeches - the night he told her he loved her is still burned into her mind, it's as much of a steady source of strength as he promised to be - but the fact that he miraculously managed to prevent dozens of guards from going at his throat with the sheer power of his accent and her parents' input is a little much to swallow. She turns her head to look at Killian, but his eyes are on his shoes and the tips of his ears are a familiar shade of embarrassed red.

The story is still strange.

But then again, she just locked Regina up with magic powers and squid ink, so Emma guesses anything is possible.

"I could have come upstairs," Merlin frowns, speaking before Emma has the chance to. "I could have just frozen them in place and solved it that way. By the way, the guards frozen at the entrance will be-"

"We already talked to them before coming down here," Mulan interrupts. "Told all of them to go home and be back in a few days, we can figure everything out then."

"Plus, we just can't keep freezing them," Red points out. "There aren't even enough cells here."

"What if they're the violent type, even without Regina?" Emma asks, concerned. "They could be leading a mutiny…"

"I doubt it, it was one of the men who convinced the lot. Graham was one of the knights there," Killian says, hand tightening in hers. It's something that's meant to reassure her, Emma can tell, and the name does make her a little relieved. She was hoping Regina didn't kill him after she left. "He deserves most of the credit, I'm afraid."

"I never know what to do when you're humble," Emma teases, bumping her shoulder against his arm. "It sounds like you deserve some of the credit. But Graham is okay?"

"Aye," he nods, the corners of his lips twitching. "He mentioned his gratefulness to you."

"Really?" Emma asks skeptically. "I wasn't exactly the nicest person around then."

"He had his heart controlled by the Evil Queen, love. Believe me when I say any kindness as all is a vast change from that experience," Killian replies, easily making light of hours of torture in a way that only he can. At least he hasn't changed too much in the day they've been apart.

Emma shoots him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, Swan," he scolds lightly.

Emma skims her thumb along the back of his hand, trying her best to provide some comfort to him. She may have healed his wounds, but she still wishes she could have done even more to help. "I'm still sorry. And I'm still amazed that all of them went along with that."

"There were a few fighters, but between us and the rest of the guards they were easy to take care of," David says, interjecting back into the conversation.

"Why am I hearing a voice in my head that sounds an awful lot like Robin saying that taking a throne by force is leading us down a dark path..." Emma starts, frowning as she remembers his regime change cautioning.

"We only took out people trying to kill us," Lancelot points out. Given that Guinevere and Lancelot used to camp with him and Marian, Emma finds herself willing to trust his words. "I think Robin would understand."

"What are we going to do once they get back? Recruit?" Emma asks, still having difficulty wrapping her head around the fact that the knights who tried to kill her are now apparently on their side.

"Honestly?" David sighs, expression showing his own confliction as he continues the conversation. "I have no idea. Killian got them to stop from killing all of us, so I consider that a bonus."

"You're welcome, Dave."

David sighs exaggeratedly. "But I don't think it's going to be as simple as them coming to work for us. Some of the things they've done are...well, they're despicable. There has to be some accountability for that."

Emma nods in agreement, thinking of some of her own experiences. There's a massive, confusing grey area. She's sure there are knights like Graham and John and some of the more humane guards out there that are more of a result of manipulation and direct control than they are outright cruel. Then there are guards like the one who hurt Henry, who threatened Rapunzel, who tortured for the fun of it and spared no one. There's the question of how many of them had their hearts in Regina's control - _another_ mess to sort out - but not all the bad guys had good intentions.

It makes her think of something else. "We should really figure out how to get all the hearts Regina must have back, right? I mean, Graham can't be the only one."

"We'll figure it out," Red replies. "But I don't know about you guys, I'm dead on my feet.."

"Seconded," Guinevere says immediately. "That was a lot of excitement to try to handle. And the dungeons are beginning to creep me out."

Emma flits her eyes around the dimly lit room as if she forgot she was inside of it. The backdrop of the dungeons faded as soon as she saw everyone's faces. She was focusing more on them than the setting.

"We should get all that furniture back in place," Snow points above her, referencing upstairs. "It'll make it a mess to walk around with tables and chairs blocking everything."

"We just battled for our lives and your concern is furniture?" Mulan asks, amused.

Snow puts up her hands defensively. "Do you want to be able to walk here or not?"

"Magic should be able to help with most of that," Merlin tells them, breaking his temporary silence. "I'll help."

"Is it okay if we hang back for a minute?" Emma asks, gesturing to herself and Killian. He doesn't question the request, just accepts it with a slight nod.

"Of course," Snow says, as if it's a question she didn't need to ask. "We'll be upstairs when you need us."

The rest don't have any objections. David just takes Snow's hand when they go up the stairs, the rest of the oddest team in the world following them. A king, a queen, a werewolf, a warrior, a knight, a lady, and a wizard - there have to be jokes about that somehow.

"It's over," Emma exhales, a smile creeping on her lips as soon as they're out of the room. It's not that she desperately wanted everyone gone, it's just she felt like the two of them needed a minute after everything to catch their breath. "It's really over."

Killian grins, pulling her into his arms. "Aye, love. Must be a relief, having the Evil Queen locked away."

"It's weird," Emma admits. "It still doesn't feel real. I didn't actually think this could happen. I just kind of went in there and hoped for the best."

"Clearly, you bested her. Regina is a tough opponent."

"This is the part where I say I'm tougher, right?"

Killian grins widely, kissing her in lieu of answering. She leans into the kiss, fingers curling into his hair and lips curving against his.

"Also, I think this is the strangest way I envisioned meeting your parents, love," he says when they separate, eyes flitting to the stairs.

"My mother shooting you in the back and my father giving you your heart back? Yeah, I'm still trying to digest all of that," Emma replies, hand fisting into his jacket. "I think we can get used to it, eventually."

"They're not trying to kill us, so I'd say so," Killian retorts.

"Yeah," Emma turns her head to face the door of the cell she trapped Regina in. There hasn't been any sound coming from it - she doesn't think Regina would be able to hear them - but now that she's thinking about it it's probably a good time to get out. "Speaking of, we should go upstairs. It'll put a bigger distance between us and a person who wants us dead."

His gaze follows hers, settling on the door. "Aye. That sounds like a rather good idea."

-/-

"You're…" Emma blinks, eyebrows raising in surprise as she takes in the scene. Killian's hand is still in hers when they make their way upstairs. "Opening curtains?"

Snow shrugs, tugging back the fabric even further. "Getting some light in here, I think it needs it."

"I think it needs furniture that doesn't look like it's been stained by the blood of Regina's enemies," David adds, eyeing a deep red chair pointedly, "but curtains are an easy start. We can get on the rest soon."

"Remodeling already, are you?" Killian asks, stating the obvious and squinting slightly at the revealed sunlight. "Might want to start with cleaning up the glass from the back, mate."

"Guinevere and Lancelot took care of it. We stuck a shelf in front of the broken window so there's at least some barrier to entry," David explains.

"Ah," Killian nods. "Wise. Just in case a few of our friends begin to feel less friendly."

"So we're just cleaning up?" Emma asks.

"Trying to," Snow provides, a slight smile on her lips as she straightens a nearby chair. "I want to do a lot more, but for the night we can just settle for picking up a little bit. Red and Mulan are already in a spare bedroom getting some sleep, I think we're all avoiding Regina's but this castle is _thankfully_ empty. Guinevere, Merlin, and Lancelot are trying to check other rooms in the castle for any potential big catastrophes."

Killian clears his throat. "My bloodstains might be a mite difficult getting out of the floor of the throne room…"

Emma winces. "I'm so sorry."

Killian shakes his head, pressing a quick kiss to her head. His arm pulls her closer to his side. "Nonsense. As I already told you, it was hardly your fault. We're both safe and intact now."

"We almost weren't."

"But we are now," Killian counters, not letting up for a moment.

Emma can hardly argue with a man who was just tortured trying to save her life. She redirects her attention back to her parents. It's a big difference, going from the height of battle to sweeping up their messes with the parents she just met hours ago.

"This all feels so weird," Emma admits. There's a brief flash of hurt that flashes across her parents' face, but she's quick to amend her statement. "Not you, just the situation. Taking over the Evil Queen's castle with my long lost parents, cleaning up the mess from battle. I can't say I've ever really imagined this."

"It feels...different," Snow sighs, settling in the couch she just adjusted. David looks contemplative, his arm propped over one of the windows Snow just opened the curtain to. "Being back here after so long is almost bizarre. It's home, I know it's home, but it's been so _long_."

"So much of it looks different and some of it looks the same," David adds, looking out the window he's propped against before looking back at Emma. "You've grown up so much. And we missed it."

"There aren't enough apologies-"

Emma interrupts her mother, shaking her head. "We should ban apologies for a day. You seriously don't need to. It sucked, spending that long without you guys, but I don't blame you. I _can't_ blame you."

Snow's expression makes it clear that she doesn't find herself as blameless as Emma does.

"We're here together now," David says after a brief moment of silence among them. "That's what matters."

"Yeah," Emma agrees readily, "that's what matters."

-/-

Merlin is the next to enter the room, just as Emma and Killian take a seat and her parents settle into the couch.

"Everything has been as magically cleaned as possible," Merlin announces. "The throne room was a right mess, but it's spotless now."

Emma cringes at the reminder. Killian slides his hand up and down her back, comforting her when he's the one that needs comforting. As soon as she opens her mouth, he already knows what she's going to say.

"Apology ban," Killian tells her pointedly. "Remember?"

She sighs.

"Thank you, Merlin," Snow tells him.

"Yeah," Emma agrees, "thank you for everything. We'd be doomed without you."

"It was no trouble," Merlin says, waving the praise off. "You all did most of the work. Speaking of, Savior, how does it feel after your big victory?"

"I've fulfilled my _grand destiny_ and now..." Emma begins, trailing off. She frowns when she can't find the end of her sentence. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"Funny you should mention that..." Merlin begins.

"Bloody hell," Killian groans, moving his hand from Emma's back to pinch the bridge of his nose. "The Evil Queen get loose?"

Emma pales at the thought. Her parents stiffen, their gaze shifting from Merlin to Emma.

"I just locked her up, I swear," Emma lets her head hit the back of the seat in frustration, eyes shutting. "Are you serious?"

"No, no," Merlin insists quickly. "Nothing like that."

Everyone lets out a collective sigh of relief.

"Why the hell did you scare me like that?" Emma asks in disbelief. "Seriously, Merlin."

"It's not Regina," he corrects, voice puzzlingly hesitant. "And it's not a threat at the moment, but it could present one later on. The Dark One is still out there. He hasn't been seen in years, but perhaps with Regina out of the picture he'll surface once again."

Killian visibly stiffens at the mention of Rumplestiltskin. Emma recognizes the reference to the man who tortured Killian for much longer than Regina did. The Dark One killed his lover, and took his hand, to boot. She can't blame him for a negative reaction.

"You have got to be kidding me," Emma groans, hands covering her face in frustration. She had an idea that the Dark One was still out there somewhere, sure, but the reminder that they have yet another thing to beat after just barely managing to lock up Regina is draining to say the least.

"Maybe he died and a new Dark One took over," David suggests, sounding hopeful. "Or maybe he went to another realm and found a magic bean."

"He was close with Regina years ago," Snow points out. "I guess they had a falling out."

Killian keeps on tensing more and more. Emma rubs his back reassuringly, relaxing him slightly, but his jaw is still tightly wound and his eyes are still hard. He wraps his hooked arm around her waist, pulling her into him wordlessly.

"As I said," Merlin cautions, "he's not a danger quite yet. I just think perhaps we should be on alert. You asked if there was anything left and I," he gestures, "provided an example."

Emma huffs. "You know, you would think they would have different Saviors for different things, I was the anti-Evil Queen Savior. Can't they have, I don't know, a defeat the Dark One Savior?"

Merlin sighs. "If only it worked like that."

Killian is the next to speak, his voice low. "Then how does it work, mate?"

"Truthfully, I'm uncertain. But legend has it the Savior has the ability to make light overcome dark. I assume that extends to the Dark One."

"What if it doesn't? What if it just meant Regina?" Emma challenges, "Do you have the prophecy book or whatever you've been using for the fortune telling?"

"The Book of Records was destroyed by the Dark One decades ago."

"So this is all just from memory?" Killian asks in disbelief.

"My memory is flawless, I assure you."

"As a man who is centuries old," her parents' eyebrows go up at Killian's words, but he continues regardless, "believe me, there begin to be gaps in memory after a few decades."

"I'm older than you," Merlin protests, "I have a fair amount more tricks up my sleeve."

"Just when _I_ start to feel old because fighting makes me ache more than it used to," David grimaces, shaking his head.

"Tell me about it," Snow replies. "And here I thought we aged well."

"It doesn't matter," Emma interjects before Killian and Merlin can start comparing birthdays. "Do you know where the Dark One is now?"

"The Dark One's castle is long abandoned - I've checked," Merlin reveals. "I did so just before you summoned me, Emma. I have no idea where he is now."

"So what? He's just lurking around in the shadows?" Emma asks skeptically, taking hold of Killian's hand and feeling it tighten around hers.

"Well, he is the _Dark_ One," David supplies. "Shadows seem fitting.'

Emma turns her head towards him exasperatedly. "Seriously?"

"Sorry," David says, looking chagrined. "It was - well, the opening was there."

"He hasn't been seen, he may reappear, but it'd be fruitless to try and chase after him now. What you need to do is catch your breath," Merlin instructs firmly. "You need a break, Emma."

"What if he's-"

Merlin cuts her off immediately, clicking his tongue. "I'm putting my foot down."

"And you have authority over me?"

"As a _friend_ , I'm strongly advising you to relax for a little while."

Emma sighs. She turns her head to look at Killian, trying to read his response. He still seems shaken by the mention of Rumplestiltskin, his grip on her more tight than it usually would be. "Merlin is right," she decides, "we just spent months chasing after one thing. If Rumplestiltskin surfaces, we'll be ready."

Killian hesitates slightly before replying. "Aye. We will."

"And we'll be right there with you," Snow promises immediately. "No matter what happens, we'll be there. There's a lot to rebuild and try to figure out, but we're with you, Emma."

"One hundred percent," David emphasizes.

-/-

The king and queen offer one of the spare bedrooms of the castle to them, thankfully dusted off with the help of Merlin's magic. It seems cleaner than most inns, to say the least. Emma is already settling on the spacious bed, stretching out atop of it. She seems content, a weight removed from her shoulders. They both kick off their boots, Killian moves them to the side, and shed their coats. He sets his hook and brace on the nightstand.

Killian didn't often get to think about what would happen after they defeated Regina, admittedly. Current concerns seemed all too pressing to him. There were moments where Killian allowed himself to hope, allowed himself to imagine what could be a happy future with Emma at his side, but he still always wondered if any of it would ever be possible. He was certain that Emma would be able to do what she needed to, but centuries of living without hope for a better tomorrow shape a man.

The reminder of Rumplestiltskin looming over them hardly helps matters.

(No matter what happens, he won't allow the Dark One to take yet another woman he loves away from him.)

"We could go sailing, you know."

Emma's voice breaks him out of his thoughts. "Hm?"

She sits up on her elbows, eyeing him from the bed as he stills in front of it. "Once we rebuild a little, we could take a break. Go sailing, see the world. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"It was. It is," he amends his words, still dreading the prospect of the Dark One showing himself once more. He made the cruelty of Regina seem like child's play, to say the least. Merlin's warning won't get out of his mind.

Emma frowns, reading him in an instant. "What's wrong?"

"It only feels right to tell you something," Killian begins hesitantly, recollecting his own plans for the Dark One before Emma had taken up so much of his heart. She knew he'd wanted revenge in broad terms, he knows, but he isn't sure she knew the extent of it. While fighting against Regina, it was difficult to try to sort through all of that on top of everything they were currently trying to cope with.

It's best to get this out now.

He sits on the bed beside her. "I worked for Regina for a little while because she promised me a means to kill the Dark One. Even when I initially met you, I was planning on getting Regina out of the way and going after Rumplestiltskin right afterwards."

"You were going to do what?" Emma gapes, her jaw dropping in surprise. Killian winces, feeling a pang of shame.

"It seemed like the only thing I could do," Killian explains, a deep frown on his lips. "I couldn't let him get away with taking Milah away from the world, couldn't let him continue to make people suffer. When he took my heart, well, it just made it worse. Any second he could do it again, any second he could have me right back under his control."

"How?" Emma asks, brow furrowed. "But the Dark One can't be killed."

"Well, they can. There's a certain poison, dreamshade, that I procured from Neverland. I tried using it when he captured me the once, but I had more of it locked away in my ship-"

"What if Blackbeard got his hands on a deadly poison?" Emma counters. "He took your ship, remember?"

He lifts his hook from the nightstand. "Required this as a key, see. It wouldn't be possible for anyone other than myself to unlock it. The poison killed my brother, I'm hardly eager to spread it around. I just...I needed a way to kill Rumplestiltskin and I found it. I didn't know, well, I didn't know if even killing the Dark One by a way other than the dagger would result in me turning into one. If I became the Dark One, I wasn't planning on remaining one for long."

"And how could you prevent that?"

Killian grimaces, uneager to reveal the least appealing part of his plans. "Leave a bit of poison over for myself, of course."

" _Killian_."

Her voice sounds genuinely pained. Killian sighs, tenderly brushing her face with the back of his hand. Her expression is more concerned than angry, which is likely more than he deserves, but he has to tell her how much she's changed him. He's no longer a man willing to die for the sake of revenge, but a man willing to live and fight for what he wants.

"It changed. Everything did, little by little, when I met you. Revenge took up less and less of my thoughts, they were too busy with you and what we had to do together," Killian explains gently.

Emma is still frowning, her features are still pinched, but she's not making an active attempt to run away from him. Killian is going to consider that a good thing.

He continues. "After we returned the prince to the mermaid, I remember seeing you on my ship. Staring at the sea, wind in your hair, just looking at peace. And I knew I loved you. I knew I couldn't leave you behind. All I wanted was just to stay right by your side, even if it meant letting go of my revenge."

Her eyes light up in recognition. "That's when we decided to be together."

"Aye. I knew then that what I wanted changed. It's not worth it, to give away the rest of my life when he's already taken so much of it," he murmurs, dropping his forehead to press against hers. "I just want to spend the rest of my life with you, Swan. Whatever that entails."

Emma visibly softens. She sits up all the way, her hands moving up his shoulders. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"I know."

"I can't lose you."

"I believe we've both established that. And you won't lose me so long as I have some fight left in me. I was just worried you would run away when I told you, that you'd feel betrayed that I'd kept those initial aims from you. I just...I didn't want to revisit them once I decided to let them go."

Emma bristles. "You really think I'd run, after everything we've been through together?"

"I wasn't certain I could hope."

She accepts this with a sigh, kissing his cheek lightly. "Well, you're stuck with me. Like it or not."

"I more than like it, love. Rest assured."

He means every word.

-/-

They're still talking a little while later, sorting through all the feelings that the day brought to the surface. The amount of psychological and physical trauma that the both of them have endured just since dawn make it a little hard to rest their heads peacefully.

"You tried telling me about a nightmare, when you…" Killian struggles to find the words, uncharacteristically at loss for them. The candles around them, lit thanks to Emma's exhausted magic after the sun set completely, just barely illuminate the planes of his face.

"Told you I loved you right before we almost fought to the death?" Emma finishes, sidling closer to him. She's propped up on her elbows, peering down at where he's lying by her side. He gentles at the reminder, his hand coming up to brush some of her hair out of her face. "Yeah. It was...some sort of weird cell. Avoid it as much as possible, please, if we're staying here. Far right, big room in the dungeons, makes you live out the worst alternate reality possible."

Killian frowns, fingers stroking her cheek. "You said you had to kill me in it."

"I did."

Her voice breaks on the words. She has to swallow, trying to find it again as she blinks back the tears prickling behind her eyelids. Killian moves his hand to her back, pushing her forward gently until she gets the hint to let the bed take her weight. When she does, he just tugs her closer until her front is flush with his. Her head is right against his shoulder and his arms wrap around her.

It's a wordless comfort.

Emma is okay with that, given how hard words are for her right now.

"You don't have to tell me," he murmurs finally, pressing a kiss to her crown of her hair and lightly rubbing his hand up and down her spine. Both the touches and the tone of his voice are soothing, but she finds herself tensing up at the thought of revisiting all of that.

It was only that _morning_ , but it felt like a lifetime ago.

"But you can," Killian continues, his voice gentle and firm. It shouldn't be him consoling her after having his heart taken and being reminded of a mortal enemy looming over their heads, but he's always given her more than she deserves.

Emma just hopes she gives him half as much of the support he gives her.

"You can, too," she offers, stuck on the thought. "If you need to. Torture isn't something that I can picture is…"

"How's this - I will if you will." Killian proposes, rolling back the slightest bit to catch her gaze. It's bigger than the usual inn offerings, this bed is, and it allows for more room between the two of them. They're still entwined together, but he can talk to her face instead of her hair. "That is, of course, if you're comfortable…"

"I am if you are," Emma echoes, her hand moving upwards to rest against his jaw. She absentmindedly rubs his beard with her thumb, focused on keeping her eyes on his. "Want me to start?"

"Perhaps we should go chronologically."

"That'd make sense," Emma grants, her lips twitching more in nervousness than amusement. "Uh, before the cell or during?"

"Both," Killian answers. "If you're comfortable."

"Right."

Emma takes a beat, closing her eyes and pursing her lips. It's been a ridiculously long day, to say the least, and revisiting all of that so soon afterwards feels jarring. But there's a method to this. If she deals with it now, if she gets it off her chest, then it won't be weighing on her later. She and Killian both are the type to keep burdens to themselves, to lick their wounds in private and make them even worse because they're too scared to let anyone else in.

Sure, she's the more guarded one in one sense. Killian wears his heart on his sleeve with Milah's name in ink, but he masks enough of his feelings with deflection and humor that she knows the underpinnings of his defense mechanisms just like she knows hers. Apparently, she knows his headspace well enough that she'd even think of the phrase _'underpinnings of a defense mechanism'_ in a tone of voice that sounds all too much like his accent.

They're both not great at letting people get too close to them, though Killian obviously accepted his feelings before she did hers. The difference of having someone you love taken from you by brute force instead of their own choice, Emma guesses. It's kind of fitting, given their current situation. She dreamed he never loved her. He lived almost taking her life with a hand forced by Regina.

"I can nearly hear you thinking, love."

"Just sorting out my head," Emma admits, tugging another pillow under the one her head is currently resting on. "There's a lot in there."

That gets her a slight smile. "I can imagine. Swan, you don't have to-"

"I knew I was going to leave as soon as Merlin told me about the village," Emma says abruptly. His face falls, but she keeps on going. If she doesn't get it out now she never will. "I just...I knew you wouldn't have let me go. I didn't want to let you go. But I couldn't live with myself if something happened to people I cared about and there was nothing I could do to stop it."

Killian remains quiet, much to her slight surprise. She was almost expecting an immediate objection to an action that's already been done, but he just flattens his hand against her back.

"I wanted to get those moments of happiness, even if they were our last. I wanted to say I loved you, then, because that's when I think I let myself accept it, but the words wouldn't come out until you were already asleep. And I knew I had to leave, I hated to think of your reaction when I was gone, but I _had_ to, Killian. I had to. So I got dressed, grabbed what I could, passed Merlin, and waited for Regina."

Silence hangs in the air for just a moment before he picks up where she leaves off.

"I remember waking up cold. I was intent on chasing after you as soon as I realized," Killian tells her quietly. "I was furious with you, at first, I won't lie to you. Yelled at Merlin, but that hardly made me feel any better. We chased after you, but by the time we got to the village you were already gone. We found your sword and I was so worried that it'd be all I would have left of you."

She can feel tears building in her eyes already. "It was around dawn when I snuck up on Regina and her knights. It was better in my head, I'd just use my magic and it'd be taken care of. I just wanted to wait until she thought she _had_ me, you know, when she'd least expect it. Obviously, it didn't work out like that. She found the cuffs in my bag, I had no idea what the hell they were, and then I was powerless."

"I remembered the compass. We used it to try to find you. It led to the castle and I knew that I was too late, that she already had you, but I knew you were _alive_ and that was at least a measure of some relief."

"Regina got her speech in, then threw me in one of the cells. At first I thought it was anti-climatic to go all that time trying to kill me just to lock me up, but then I just got...I got so tired. I must have passed out, but when I woke up _you_ were there."

Emma gives him an opening for him to continue with his side, but he just remains silent. His eyes are glossy, just like hers, and she takes it as a silent request for her to continue.

"It didn't feel right, you said something off - like I deserved it or something like that - and it was so jarring. But it was you to me, I asked you about things only you'd know about. You knew all about Henry and everything else and you had a heartbeat, so it had to be you and we had to hurry," she lets out a long breath, wetting her lips and squeezing her eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. "We found my parents in the hallway. They were dead."

"Gods, Emma," his voice is already agonized, but she has to power through it if she ever wants to get it out.

"I tried to say my goodbyes, but you - the other you, nightmare you - had to drag me away because we had to get the hell out of there. When I caught my breath for half a second you told me Henry and Geppetto and almost everyone else in that village were dead, too. And - you know that one story I came up with for the guards? That you were working for Regina all along?"

" _Swan_ ," Killian murmurs, even more pained. His arms tighten around her, an attempt to comfort her. She can differentiate the dream from this just in how he touches her, the care in his gaze that was absent from the counterpart, but the memories still sting.

Her next words come out in a hiccup of a suppressed sob. "It didn't even work on the guards, but in my head it worked on me. I tried not to believe it, but you were saying all kinds of shit and you pulled out your heart and - in retrospect, it's obvious it was some kind of nightmare from hell, but it felt real then. Oh, and we were at Henry's grave, which seems like an important detail."

"It truly sounds like hell, what you're describing."

That, at least, gets a half laugh out of her. "Then you tried to kill me, we had this big swordfight. It's so ridiculous, thinking about it now - all the death, the graveyard, the heart pulling, the graveyard - but I just...I can't even put into words how miserable it was."

She takes another breath to try to steel herself. "We fought. You tried to trick me into thinking it was some curse or something, but then the next second you had your sword to my throat and you told me I should just give up then because I had nothing worth sticking around for. For a second, I considered it."

"Why didn't you?" he asks, but the words are more of a genuine attempt at understanding rather than a suggestion that she shouldn't have.

"I thought about everyone else. People I could still help. And then I drove my sword through your chest before you had the chance to kill me. And for a second, you were you again. You told me that I won. That you just wanted to hold me. Then you were dead and I was sobbing and just clutching your body," her hands dig into his arms and she has to recognize a little bit of the irony in her statement, "I say, sobbing and clutching your body."

Tears roll down his own face, his voice coarse with them even with her attempt at humor. "And then what happened?"

"Then I just," she shrugs as best as she can, her breaths slowing so her words are less like panicked hyperventilation and more just like stating facts, "I had to get up. I had to keep going on because as much as everything sucked there were people that needed my help. And I woke up right after that and got out of the cell."

"Because you didn't give up," Killian says, a note of pride in his voice. "Even with all of that, you went on."

"What else was I supposed to do?" Emma asks, the question more rhetorical than anything. "If I quit, she would have won. It would have been easier to just give up, but then you would have died for nothing. My parents, Henry, everyone's deaths would mean nothing. People still needed my help, maybe I could still beat Regina somehow or heal someone. All I could do is just try to find some meaning, even when everything was falling apart, and try to make life a little less miserable for everyone else."

He lets out a half-laugh, his handless arm bending to encircle her waist as his hand brushes away tears from under her eyes. "I love you so much, Emma Swan."

"You owe me your half of the story still," Emma counters, sniffling, "and I love you too."

-/-

Killian genuinely does love her with everything he has in him.

Her recounting of what happened to her only serves to make him love her more. It shouldn't, given it's describing a nightmare wherein she killed him. But it's also a reminder of who Emma is at her core - the type of person to never give up no matter how badly the odds are stacked against her. The type of woman who would endure tremendous suffering and have it only make her more determined to keep fighting.

He'd never adored another person more.

"You're zoning out on me," Emma mutters, fingers stroking at his beard once more. "It's been a hell of a long day. You don't have to talk, we can just sleep."

"No," Killian shakes his head vehemently. "You told me yours, I'll tell you mine. I won't break a promise to you."

"It was hardly a _promise-'_

"I left off when we chased after you to the palace, correct?"

Emma sighs, but nods. Her fingers brush away the remnants of his own tears, evidence of how profoundly Emma's words had impacted him.

"Well, Merlin wouldn't be able to face Regina without you. And I knew that Regina would only have one piece of bait almost as enticing as you, she'd hardly pass up on an oppurtunity to come after me. I gave the compass and your sword to Merlin, told him to find you and get you the bloody hell out of there while I caused a commotion and tried to get Regina to come my way."

"What if Regina was in the dungeons with me, anyways? How would Merlin get me out?" Emma asks, raising her eyebrows. "If Regina came running your way, what if Merlin crossed paths with her?"

These are valid criticisms, ones that his own determination and the rush of blood in his body prevented him from thinking through properly. "I didn't really think about the timing of it too much, I must admit."

The look on her face says she's biting back a comment - he can't blame her, it wasn't his finest plan - but she holds back.

Or, so he thought she had.

"Next time we're feeling sacrificial, we have got to be better planners. Both of us."

"That's fair," he acknowledges. "But I daresay it worked out in our favor. Regina was already in the throne room when I charged it, she was delighted at the opportunity to show me the error of my ways."

It's not even at the worst of it, but she pulls just the slightest bit closer to him. Her touch is at least some comfort.

"News came that you escaped. She took my heart, I told her to kill me but of course she didn't listen. Regina tortured me for hours afterwards using her magic so I'd be the perfect victim for you to rescue. She had control of my heart and no matter how much I tried to break it I couldn't. Sometimes the pressure was more intense than others, but towards the end…"

Killian trails off. Emma lets out a long breath, trying to regain some of her composure. Her cheeks are still wet, as are his, but it's out in the open now. They were at least given this moment of catharsis.

"And you know the rest of my tale," Killian says.

"We're together now," Emma says, repeating her father's earlier words. "That's what matters."

"Aye," he agrees. "That's what matters."

He leans in to give her a gentle kiss, at first just a sliding of his lips against hers. Emma deepens it, hands gripping his hair and sucking his bottom lip with her mouth. It's as if she's lit a fire underneath him, a fire that drives him nearly mad as she leans back to take in gulps of air and sighs out his name.

Killian is feeling very, very grateful for the bed provided to them.

"You know, we should just be sleeping…" Emma gasps out, not sounding as if she means a word.

"Oh?"

"We had a long day."

"That we did," he agrees. In the next instant, he braces himself above her. Her legs splay on either side of him, welcoming him readily between them. "I don't suppose you'd like a nice way to end it right and proper?"

"And what's _'right and proper'_?" Emma parrots, her skin wonderfully flushed.

"How about I show you, aye?" he asks, pressing kisses down the column of her throat. Emma laughs, tilting her head back to allow him better access. Killian can't believe he only made love to her last night, it feels like it's been a bloody eternity, but he's determined to drive out the feeling of goodbye with the feeling, the _knowledge_ that they'll never have to be seperated again.

"Aren't you exhausted?"

"I could never tire of you, darling," Killian says, guiding his lips to her collarbone. His fingers skim over her belly and she inhales sharply, a sound he can't help but relish in. "I'll do all the work, love, just-"

"You are _not_ doing all the work," Emma protests, flipping him on his back before he can let out another word. Killian laughs at the movement, beaming up at her and soaking in the delight of her own expression. The bed is big enough to allow for some movement, which he can't help but be grateful for. "This will go both ways. Trust me."

"I trust you with my life, Swan, as you already know."

"Well then this should be easy."

His hand slides between her legs just as she palms him through his leathers. He snakes his hand in down the front of her pants, already finding her wet and wanting, just before she undoes the laces of his leathers. Once he finds her clit, it only takes a quick roll of his thumb for her eyes to roll in the back of her head. Killian relishes in the hiss of her breath between her teeth, in the heat he can feel with his fingers.

"You're making this hard for me, right now," she grunts, instinctively rocking against him.

"Oh no, darling, you're making it hard for _me_."

Emma stills just enough to look down at him exasperatedly. "Proud of yourself for that line?"

"Just a bit."

Emma can only let out a choked laugh, lifting her hips away from the pressure of his hand and sliding away to stand beside the bed. It leaves him panting on the bed, more than a bit frustrated, but when she makes quick work of her clothing he can't find himself too bothered by it.

"Door locked?" he asks, just as she starts tugging down his pants.

"Yeah," she says breathlessly as he starts unbuttoning his shirt. They're in no rush, not really, but he still just wants to feel her already. Her bare skin against his is just what he needs right now to remind him that she's alive, that she's okay, and that they're here together. It's exactly what he needs. Judging by her expression - pupils blown wide, breaths uneven - it's what she needs as well.

They're both bare by the time she settles over him, knees on either side of his hips and lips dipping down to search for his. He chases the taste of her readily, tongue finding hers as his hand settles at the base of her spine.

"I want to take my time with you," he mutters with kiss-bruised lips once they separate. "Take you nice and slow."

Emma laughs, her hands fisted in his hair. "I think that's the fastest we've ever stripped. You sure about that?"

"We never lost each other. I believe I'm allowed some time," he replies pointedly. "You, as well. You deserve a bit of unwinding after all that's happened today."

"Unwinding? Is that what we're calling it?"

"Bloody hell," he grunts, kissing her once more in lieu of replying. He can feel her laughter shaking her frame and he can't help but laugh with her. His hand maps every inch of her it can, curling through her hair and running down her sides. Soon, Emma's start to do the same, memorizing every inch of him with her touch. "You're the exhausted one, love, want to get on your back?"

Emma slumps beside him without much protest, welcoming him immediately with a kiss as soon as he props himself right back over her.

"I thought that'd take more convincing, I must admit."

"You were right. I'm tired. You offered," she shrugs, still smiling. It warms him to see her so casually happy. "Can't blame a girl for taking you up on the offer."

Her foot slides up his calf. Killian groans, taking that as all the hint he needs. He settles between her thighs, fingers brushing against her clit just as he lines up his cock right where she's ready for him.

"Feel good?" he asks, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Killian speaks against her skin, feeling her rut against him. "Have that nice pleasant tingling feeling, that heat simmering in your belly?"

"I could feel better," she grunts, hand finding the curve of his arse. Emma tries to guide him forward insistently, but he remains still until he can find her lips with his own. With another kiss, he's sliding inside of her.

"How about now?" he asks, rasping the words out as their mouths break apart.

Emma kisses him again instead of answering, the hiccup of her breathing when he ruts against her answer enough.

Killian sets a slow, deep rhythm, her hips bucking against his encouragingly and her hand in his hair pressing his lips to her neck. It's needy and perfect, the way she clutches him to her and the way he fills her. She's warm and nearly glowing, as vibrant as she's ever been. No matter what they've been through, no matter their brief separation - they still can come together just like this.

"I love you," he rasps. "I love you so much, Swan."

"I'm waiting for that to get too much to hear," the laugh sticks in her throat when she shifts her hips just right against his. "But it doesn't. I love you."

They try not to make too much noise, mindful of other occupants of the palace, but the way she molds against him and tightens with him inside of her, the way she mouths his name into his neck, and the way her fingers tangle in his hair make it bloody difficult to hold back his moans. Killian is close to the brink in no time, shamefully so. When Emma tightens around him, he's quick to pick up the pace to ensure she's the one who falls first.

Killian hasn't embarrassed himself, yet, but he's sure they'll be a day.

Luckily, it's not today. Emma quivers, her legs shaking and her teeth scraping against his shoulder. Killian hears a hiccup of her breath, a choked moan. He finally allows himself to thrust in and out of her a few more times and let himself go. They're a sweaty mass of limbs when he nearly collapses atop her.

"I needed that," Emma exhales, her hands sliding up and down his back a few times before he slips out of her. He reaches for a spare towel on the nightstand, cleaning up after themselves a bit before he settles in beside her. "Fuck, we needed that."

Killian settles behind her in the bed, kissing her shoulder as he folds his arms around her. "I can't help but agree."

" _Now_ I'm exhausted. I don't even think I can move," she bemoans, tangling her fingers with his as soon as his hand slides to her stomach. Emma hums contentedly when his leg slides between hers, effortlessly tangling the two of them together.

"No nightmares," he instructs firmly. "Stray away from handsome pirates with swords, aye?"

"Don't get your heart stolen again," she quips.

"Too late," Killian rebuts. "You still have mine, darling."

"Goes both ways," she mutters. The sentence doesn't make much sense, admittedly, but her exhaustion is endearing nonetheless. A few minutes later, her breathing lulls to an even rhythm. It's easy to find his own peace with her beside him, his eyes drooping until he can't keep them open any longer.

-/-

When they go downstairs the next morning, David and Snow already have breakfast laid out. Snow immediately grins as soon as she spots them. "Good morning, you two!"

Emma blinks, still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Killian just guides her forward with his hand on her spine. "Found Regina's cupboards, did you, your majesty?"

David shrugs, settling in at the table. He reaches for a berry, popping one into his mouth. "She stole our kingdom. I think we're okay with stealing her food."

"You guys are chipper for…" Emma cranes her neck to look at the clock that's hanging on the wall, "five in the morning?"

"We couldn't sleep," Snow says sheepishly. "We've been moving things around all night. Everyone else is still asleep, you two are early risers."

"Sorry. He's a sailor, he's got me on his ridiculous sleeping schedule," Emma nudges him teasingly. He laughs, tucking her further into his side.

"Nothing the matter with rising with the sun, love."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Emma replies, sounding more irritated than she really is. She presses a quick kiss to his cheek. "You're lucky I like you. What are we eating?"

"Bread, fruit," Snow gestures at the spread, setting a pitcher of juice on the table. "I think there's more, back in the-"

"This is fine," Emma reassures her immediately. "Thank you."

Snow smiles, just slightly, as she takes a seat next to David. Her father immediately wraps his arm around her mother, keeping her close. The affection between the two of them seems easily, love apparent in just how easily they work together. "I just wanted to make sure everything was perfect."

Emma shrugs. "It doesn't have to be."

"That's what I keep saying," David adds fondly. "Embrace the dysfunctionality."

They're talking more about breakfast, Emma knows. That's fine with her.

"This the one we stood on yesterday?" Killian asks with a grin, sliding out a chair for Emma as he knocks his hook against the table. "Nice of you to drape a quilt over it, covers the footprints."

"We're doing what we can," Snow shrugs. "Making the castle a little more like it used to be, slowly but surely. It will never be exactly the same, but it doesn't have to be. As David said, we're embracing the dysfunction."

"That's a good attitude to have," Emma grants, taking the chair Killian offers to her with a grateful nod. He slips into the one beside her, arm draping on the back of her seat.

"We can't change the past. We realize that," Snow acknowledges. "But maybe we can make a future. I thought maybe we could visit some villages soon. Start to rebuild. We can't erase all the damage, but we can help now."

"Reminds me of a Savior telling me we should help the kingdom village by village," Killian grins, taking a long drink of water beside her.

"That's a good idea," Emma says, a small smile on her lips. It makes sense, to try to fix everything the way it all began. They can't try to rebuild hiding out in a castle. Maybe her parents get it more than she even realized. "Spread the word that they aren't under the grips of the Regina anymore. Get people off the streets. Try to help people heal - maybe literally - and move on."

"Exactly," Snow says, beaming. "That's _exactly_ what I was thinking."

Emma flushes, still uncertain to do with the attention. They're her parents. She's having breakfast with her parents in a castle they just reclaimed. David was right, this is definitely dysfunctional. But somehow, it works.

"You wouldn't believe the economy was suffering, given the amount of bloody shops we visited," Killian jokes. Emma muffles a laugh, biting her lip.

"People are good at finding ways to survive," David replies easily. "We haven't seen the kingdom in what feels like forever, you have any idea where to start?"

Emma nods immediately. "The one we just left, maybe? I spent a lot of time there, Regina just threatened it, and there was this kid, Henry…"

She stops herself right there, uncertain of how to continue.

"Go on, love," Killian encourages beside her.

"You can tell us," Snow adds immediately, voice just slightly pleading.

"Um," Emma presses her lips together, still feeling unsure about how to explain the situation. "We saved him from guards. He had nowhere to go, no family, no home. We wanted to badly to be able to stick around for him, but we obviously couldn't. Geppetto took him in for us."

David and Snow both grow alert at the name. David raises his eyebrows. "Geppetto?"

"Yeah," Emma nods. "I know he was supposed to take me in - it was a whole long story, he told me all about it - but we're okay now. I'm okay now. But we had to leave Henry behind for his own good. I mean, we couldn't have brought him with us to fight and to get hurt and all the rest, it was no place for a kid."

"I understand," Snow says softly. Emma knows without a doubt that she does. It's what her parents had to do with her, after all.

Emma clears her throat, surprised to find a lump there. "We only were with him for a few days, it's stupid…"

"No, it's not," David says immediately. "He was yours to look after, right?"

Emma turns to meet Killian's eyes, looking to him for guidance. He looks contemplative, teeth dragging over his bottom lip and brow furrowed. He catches Emma's gaze after a moment, his eyes understanding and his hand finding hers on the table.

"Yeah," she murmurs, eyes still on Killian. "He was."

"Blood doesn't make family, Emma," David says, his voice warm and his eyes equally so when Emma meets them. It's the kind of tone she's always wanted her father to have, even when she never knew her parents gave a damn about her. "It'll be the first place we stop by. "

"That is, if this is what you want," Snow picks up where her husband leaves off effortlessly. "You're free now, Emma, you don't have to stay with us if you don't want to."

"Of course I want to stay," Emma protests immediately. "I'm home."

And she is. Killian is curled around her, right beside her as he's been through all of this. Her parents are right here in front of her, planning on what to do next to help. She has an entire group of people behind her that she'd never hoped she'd have. Even the castle that's surely going to take ages to restore to its former glory is beginning to feel familiar, from the soft patterned quilts Snow is starting to drape over the furniture to the light let it through the windows.

It took her long enough, but she's home.


End file.
